


With an Easy Thread

by thornfield_girl



Series: Threads [2]
Category: Justified
Genre: Autopsies, Case Fic, Chickens, Country Music, Detective Work, Domestic, M/M, Mystery, Post-Apocalypse, Serial Killer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a quiet two years since Raylan came back to Harlan. The peace he's found is shattered by the grisly discovery of three bodies in an abandoned house. Raylan takes on the job of finding the killer, but when a fourth woman goes missing, he finds that he needs to reach out to some old friends for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Raylan wakes up slowly, aware of the light outside his closed eyelids, but not willing to open them and greet the day just yet. He keeps them closed and lies still, pretending to sleep. He knows Boyd is awake, but still in bed, and he hears the page of a book turning. He can see him in his mind's eye, sitting up against the headboard, thick-framed reading glasses on his face. 

He's been reading _Cloudsplitter_ , by Russell Banks, which he talks about incessantly. Raylan had liked another of his books, which Boyd pushed on him a few months ago, but this one he's just as happy to let Boyd summarize for him. It's a thick one.

Raylan can't keep a stray smile from his lips, and it's obvious he's given himself away, because he hears Boyd put the book down, then the clicking sound of his glasses being removed. 

Boyd slides down next to him and puts an arm on his waist. "About time," he says, kissing Raylan's jaw.

"Time for what?" Raylan mumbles.

In lieu of a verbal response, Boyd disappears under the covers and starts kissing his stomach, running his hands over his thighs and just occasionally brushing against his rapidly growing cock.

He pops back up after a few minutes and says, "What was that question again?" 

Raylan takes Boyd's hand and puts it between his legs. "Never mind," he says.

Boyd kisses him slowly and thoroughly, and somehow makes the handjob seem like something more than itself. By the time he comes, he's gulping air and biting on Boyd's shoulder, and he finishes with a long, shaky sigh into Boyd's ear. 

Raylan takes a second or two, then climbs over Boyd to get out of bed. He pulls Boyd over to sit on the edge, and kneels in front of him. They had put a rug on the hard wood floor next to the bed, for that very purpose, and Raylan swallows him down all at once. 

It's been nearly two years since his first, less than successful attempt at this, and he has become, in his own opinion, a goddamn expert. Boyd looks at him with great amusement when he talks up his own skill at the task, but Raylan hasn't noticed him being anything less than an enthusiastic recipient in quite some time.

Boyd is moaning his name, and Raylan is really getting going. He can feel himself getting hard again, already, and he knows it's because of the way Boyd says it. How he says _Raylan_ like it's a dirty word, or something delicious, like caramel. God, he loves that. 

There's a sudden, loud banging at the front door. He starts to pull off, but Boyd growls, "Fuck no," and pushes his head back down. The banging doesn't stop, so Boyd yells, "Hang on!" at the top of his lungs. Raylan takes him in as deep as he can, letting him press against the back of his throat - and he doesn't gag even a little bit - and Boyd closes his fingers around a handful of his hair as he starts to come. He lets out a loud grunt, then flops backwards onto the bed. 

"Who the fuck is pounding on our door at 8 something am on a Saturday?" Boyd asks. 

Raylan is getting dressed, pulling on jeans, but Boyd throws on a bathrobe and stalks out to the front door. 

He can hear Boyd talking to someone, and as he buttons up his shirt, he strains to hear. It sounds like old Wayne Durbin, from up the mountain. They both knew him from the mine, when they worked there as kids, and he'd seemed ancient to them even then. He was probably only in his 50s, but he looked like some old prospector from a Western. He looks about the same to Raylan these days. 

Raylan puts on socks, but his boots are in the living room. Wayne looks up when he comes into the room, and Boyd looks back at him with a serious expression. 

"Ah, hey Raylan," Wayne says. "I'm sure sorry to bust in on you on a weekend, but it seemed like something, probably shouldn't wait." 

"Yeah, no problem, Wayne. Come on in a minute. Have a set down." Raylan sits down and starts pulling on his boots. "What's going on?"

Wayne looks a little hesitant, and slightly uncomfortable as usual around the two of them. Most people know by now about their relationship, and most care surprisingly little, after their original surprise. Wayne doesn't care, Raylan knows, not really. He's just old. He's always polite, just a little weird. 

Boyd says, "We still got a little of the coffee we traded all that shine for last month."

Raylan looks up and nods at him, giving a quick smile, and goes into he kitchen.

Wayne sits in the armchair next to the couch and says, "Raylan, you know that abandoned farmstead up by Gray's Knob?"

"Uh... yeah, I think so. I heard it called the McCoury place, back in the day."

Wayne nods. "That's the one. I was out there pokin' around, hoping to find something useful to trade at the meet tomorrow. But..." He trails off and looks up as Boyd walks around the corner and heads back toward the bedroom. 

"Hey Wayne? Anything you tell me, I'm just gonna turn around and tell Boyd, so don't worry about it, okay?"

Wayne glances up to meet his eyes, then nods again. "Right, yeah. I- of course. Well anyway, as soon as I got close, I could tell something wasn't right. I ain't sure why, it just felt... bad. Like the skin on my neck was prickling."

Boyd comes back into the room, dressed in jeans and a blue cotton button-down, rolled up to his elbows. Even this early in the morning, the temperature has to be edging up on the mid-80s already.

"Coffee should be ready," Boyd says. "You want a cup, Wayne?" 

"No thanks, Boyd." He turns back to Raylan and says, "I went in anyway, thinkin' I was just bein' a stupid old man. But the second I stepped inside, the smell hit me. It was- and then I saw-"

The man is breathing a little hard now, and Raylan says, "Take it easy, Wayne." He's frowning though, because a tough old miner like him is not someone you'd expect to spook easily. 

Boyd comes out with a cup of coffee for Raylan and one for himself, and sits down on the sofa. 

"There was body parts," Wayne blurts, suddenly. 

Raylan and Boyd both stare at him for a second, then Raylan says, "Body parts."

"Well, bodies, I suppose. But no heads."

Boyd says, "You're certain you didn't see a bunch of... mannequins or some shit like that?"

Wayne looks at him like he's never been so insulted, and Raylan can't say he really blames him. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to, Crowder? You think I ain't never seen a dead body?"

Boyd is holding his hands up defensively, looking slightly amused, saying, "Alright, I hear you. A man hears something as stone cold fucked up as what you just said, he looks for alternate explanations, is all. I believe you."

"Anyways," Wayne says, shooting one more irritated glance in Boyd's direction, "I could see three of 'em. All- all ladies, I think. There mighta been more, but I got the fuck outta there damn fast. I didn't touch nothin'."

"Wayne, thank you for coming to me with this," Raylan says. "I'll go check it out right away. Now, you sure you don't want no coffee 'fore you go? It's a rare offer these days."

Wayne shakes his head, then walks to the door. "Sorry again for fuckin' up your day off, Raylan. Boyd." He nods, and leaves. 

When the door closes behind him, Raylan looks at Boyd with sharp eyes and asks, "This ain't something I'm already supposed to know about, is it?"

"Raylan, there ain't no Einsteins among Johnny's crew, and that includes the man himself, but ain't none of them sick psycho killers. They kill someone, they fucking bury them."

"Alright, Boyd. Jesus, what the fuck is this shit? I gotta go see what's up. You wanna go with me?"

Boyd shrugs. "Sure. I like watching you do your lawman thing."

Raylan snorts and says, "There's something I never thought I'd hear outta your mouth."

"Never thought I'd hear you check with me before investigating a murder, either," Boyd says, grinning. "What do you think would have been harder to believe, if someone had told you? That you'd be working with the Crowders, or that you and me would be screwing?"

"Screwing?" Raylan says in mock indignation. "Is that all this is to you? Sex?"

Boyd walks up close and puts a hand to the back of his head, pulls him in and kisses him very softly on the lips. "Yep," he whispers. "Don't get any ideas, Raylan. I could never... love you."

"I could never love you either, Boyd," he returns.

This is a familiar routine, and in fact they have never said, "I love you" to each other in a direct, unironic way. They sometimes say, "I hate you" in its place. It's their thing, and Raylan likes it this way. After two years being together, they both know where they stand. 

They decide to drive up there, though more often than not - like most people - they use bikes whenever possible. As law enforcement, Raylan gets a gas ration from the state government, but it's almost never enough. He's thinking he'll want to haul the bodies back and have the coroner take a look at them. 

They stop by the station and pick up his evidence kit, including an old film camera, which has not been used in the line of duty since Raylan took over. There's very little unauthorized crime in Harlan these days. 

Boyd read up on how to develop film awhile back, and he's made a sort of hobby of it since. He keeps trying to convince Raylan to let him take some photos of a more personal nature, to which he always responds with a firm, "Fuck no." Boyd contents himself with pictures of the town, its citizens, and its post-Event endeavors, and Raylan imagines, continues to live in hope. 

They pull up to the old house and grab up the gear. Before they even get to the door, Raylan can smell the decay. The smell of rotting human flesh is not like any other, and he and Boyd glance uneasily at each other. 

The front door opens on a small foyer with a large, cloudy mirror on one wall. They walk through it, passing a front parlor on the right, into the large living room. The windows are boarded up, so the light is dim, and they stand still for a minute to allow their eyes to adjust.

The smell is explosive now, and they can hear the hum of hundreds - maybe thousands - of flies. 

"Raylan," Boyd says, his voice sounding rusty, "over there." He points to the far corner of the room. 

They walk over, and they see what are definitely not mannequins, covered in black flies, grey-green flesh barely visible. 

"Fuck," Raylan mutters. "Take a couple pictures, then we get the fuck out of here."

Boyd snaps some pictures from various angles, then they both run to the door, gulping fresh air. Raylan bites down hard on the urge to puke, though he's not sure why he cares. Boyd looks sick too, and might be fighting just as hard against the same thing.

"I've never seen anything like that," Boyd gasps. 

"Me neither," Raylan replies. "Seen plenty of dead bodies. Made plenty of 'em that way. But that..."

Boyd goes to the truck and pulls out a rolled up tarp. "We gotta bring them back. Have Emerson look at them."

Raylan nods. Cary Emerson was a local family practitioner before the Event, and he serves as Coroner now. Mostly he just signs off when people die of old age, or heart attacks, or liver failure. Raylan is pretty sure he has less experience with something like this than either him or Boyd, but he might be able to offer something.

They pull on latex gloves - two pairs each - and head back into the house. They roll the tarp out on the living room floor and carefully lift the headless corpses onto it. It's by far the most horrifying thing Raylan has ever had to do. He can't speak to Boyd's experience, but he'd guess the same is true of him. 

When they get the bodies into the back of the truck, they're able to get a better look at them in the light. 

"They look like they're at different stages of decomp," Raylan says.

"Listen to you, CSI," Boyd says, still pretty green around the gills.

"Fuck you, man. Just look."

Boyd does, then nods. "This one here looks relatively fresh. This one's already turning to soup... shit..." He leans over next to the truck bed and vomits, and Raylan has to walk away so he doesn't start. 

They cover the bodies with another tarp and strap them down with bungees. Raylan asks Boyd to check around the outside of the house, take pictures of anything that looks like evidence, and check for freshly dug dirt. The heads have to be somewhere. Raylan goes back inside to search the house. 

Raylan sees no signs of anyone living in the house, no food remnants or sleeping gear. He finally goes back outside to find Boyd leaning up against a tree a good distance from both the house and the truck. 

"I didn't find nothing," Boyd says. "You?"

"Nope," Raylan replies. "Let's get these girls back to Emerson. Fuck, man. What the hell is this?"

Boyd shakes his head. "You know," he says, "I been thinking, where do you suppose these women are coming from? I ain't heard of anyone going missing from Harlan."

"Maybe... maybe they were passing through with someone. Maybe whoever the dude is, he's gone now."

"I don't know," Boyd says. Seems like he must've hung around for awhile, if they were killed at different times. Unless he was traveling with the bodies, but who travels by car? I don't see it."

"Yeah. After we drop these with the doc, I'm gonna go talk to the other law around these parts. Think you can get those photos developed?"

"'Course." Boyd is looking at him, a little smile twisting up his mouth. 

"What?" Raylan asks.

Boyd shrugs. "You and me workin' on the same side of the law - on the right side of the law, even."

"See?" Raylan gives him a tired smile. "Don't that feel nice? If you weren't such a stubborn asshole, we coulda come to an understanding a lot sooner."

Boyd laughs. "If _I_ wasn't such a stubborn asshole!"

Raylan walks up closer and puts a hand on his waist, then kisses his cheek. "You smell like puke. Let's get going."

Cary Emerson had gone to Evarts high school at the same time as Raylan and Boyd - he'd been two years behind them - but neither of them remembers him at all. He'd grown up in a middle class family, and hadn't played sports or distinguished himself in any way that would have drawn their attention. Their social circles had never crossed, but he had been very much aware of both of them. 

He'd been away at school, and had established a practice outside of Louisville for many years, with privileges at a major hospital in that city. He'd done well for himself, and had decided to move back to Harlan only two years before the Event, to give back to the community he was from, start a practice that offered care to low-income families. 

Emerson had returned with his partner of eleven years, a good-looking man named Matthew, a few years younger than him. People had probably talked, but again, he existed in different circles. Boyd hadn't known a thing about it until the population thinned out a great deal.

When Raylan had first returned and been granted the emergency Sheriff's post, he'd gone around to talk to the people he knew he'd be working with, including Emerson. He'd let him know where he was staying, in case he needed to get in touch off-hours, and the man had looked at him sharply. 

"Isn't that where Boyd Crowder is living these days?" 

"That's right," Raylan said. "I'm staying with Boyd."

Emerson smiled a little and looked away, then back at Raylan. "I don't mean to presume or anything, and I hope you won't take it in a negative way, but are the two of you... together in a... romantic sense?"

Raylan laughed. "Romantic may be pushing it a little," he said. "We're together. But we ain't really looking to spread that around too much, just yet. Let people get used to me a little. They already won't want to trust me, on account of me being a Federal so recently."

"I always thought you two were boyfriends back at school."

"Did you?" Raylan asked, feeling curious. Maybe he could find out what it was Johnny had always picked up on. "We weren't. What made you think so?"

Emerson shrugged. "Nothing real obvious or anything, if you're worried about that. Just, I don't know, the way you guys looked at each other. Like you wanted to..." He laughed. "It's the only reason I paid any attention to the two of you. I'm sure I only noticed it because I was looking for it."

Raylan's eyes were narrowed, and he asked, "Like we wanted to what?"

"Eat each other. Is what I was going to say, but I realized how weird that sounded. I don't know why that phrase jumped to mind. I didn't mean it in a sexual way, exactly."

"I get it. There's always been a somewhat adversarial aspect to our, uh, relationship. Anyways, I'd appreciate your discretion. It's one thing to be a doctor from away, quite another to be who me and Boyd are."

Emerson always seems to find them mildly amusing when he sees them together, but he's always professional about it. Today, they're pulling up in front of his office with a truck bed full of dead, headless women's bodies. Raylan doubts he'll find much humor in the situation. 

Raylan parks and runs into the office. There's a pregnant woman just leaving the exam room, and she smiles at him, says "hey." Raylan says "hey" back, and hopes to God Boyd hasn't taken the fucking tarp off yet. 

"Hey, doc," Raylan says, poking his head into the room, where Emerson is cleaning up. "Got an urgent situation I need your help with."

"Hey, Sheriff," he replies. "What's going on?"

"Some bad shit. I got a report of some dead bodies out at that abandoned McCoury farm out by Grays Knob. Me and Boyd checked it out just now, and... well, it's fucking terrible. We brought them back, and I wanted you to take a look, see if you can tell me anything. They're out in the truck."

Emerson is frowning, and looks disturbed. "Alright. But not here - let's take them over to Tate's and I'll get them on the table."

The doctor rides over with them, squeezed into the front seat of the truck between Boyd and the passenger door. Boyd slides over and drapes an arm on the seat behind Raylan's shoulders to make room for him. 

Raylan drops Boyd at the house first, so he can get started on developing the film, then they drive the bodies to Tate's Funeral Home so they can be examined. It's more convenient than the local hospital, and neither of them wants to cause a panic.

Emerson goes in to borrow a stretcher, and they bring the bodies in one at a time. A look of shock and horror crosses the doctor's face when Raylan first pulls back the tarp, but it hardens up soon enough. 

"I'll do autopsies and get a report to you tomorrow," he says. "I can tell you right away they were killed a couple weeks apart. First this one," he says, pointing, "then this one, and this one here, if I had to guess, maybe a week and a half ago. I'll know more when I get internal temps and open them up. You say these were inside a house?"

"Yeah. In a dark, boarded up living room."

"Alright. Well, come by tomorrow and I'll have something for you. Will you be at the swap meet?"

Raylan frowns. "No, I'm thinking not. I gotta do some legwork on this, I don't want to waste any time. I'm sure Boyd will be there, he's got some shit to trade, and we need food. Maybe you could hand the report off to him?"

"Sure." Emerson grins. "When you were playing varsity baseball for Evarts, and Boyd Crowder was next in line to inherit his daddy's criminal enterprises, I bet it never occurred to you he'd be doing your marketing and acting as your de facto Sheriff's deputy."

Raylan snorts. "Among all the many things that never occurred to me could happen, but did, those are certainly two of the strangest."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan visits another county in search of the identity of the bodies.

Raylan drives over to Pineville, in Bell County. He's already edging up on halfway into his monthly gas ration, and it's only a week in, so he knows he's going to have to get some on the black market. He's going to be all over the goddamn place with this thing. 

The Sheriff there, a guy named Pete Mason, he's only met once, and the guy is a huge dickhead. He's a one-upper, the kind who can't even wait for you to stop talking before he starts telling his own story. He's casually racist, and Raylan has to assume not a great supporter of same-sex relationships, though he supposes, one never knows. 

He knows he's probably going to find out now, because he and Boyd haven't made a secret of anything for more than a year and a half. 

It was about two months after Raylan moved in, after he took over Sheriff duties in Harlan. He and Boyd were still figuring out what they needed from each other, what they were to each other. 

They were still maintaining separate bedrooms, holding to the formality of issuing or waiting for an invitation - or conversely, getting drunk and attacking each other in the living room or the back yard, and crashing where they lay. 

The morning after one such night, they were tangled up on the sofa, naked, a thin blanket pulled over themselves by one of them, at some point in the night. 

" _Je_ -sus Christ." Raylan blinked his eyes open to see Johnny Crowder standing over them. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Boyd muttered. "Didn't I fuckin' tell you not to walk in here anymore? What were you expecting to see?"

All the color seemed to have drained from Johnny's face, and he said, "Not this. I thought you were fuckin' with me. 'Cause I always gave you shit about him."

"Well get the fuck out!" Raylan yelled at him. "Christ."

Johnny turned and slammed his way out of the house. 

"Well," Boyd said.

"Well," Raylan replied, in a sort of agreement. "That's done, then. Now we don't have to tell no one."

"Were we going to?" Boyd asked. "What would we even have said? I don't even know what to call this." He pulled himself off of Raylan and sat up.

"Boyd," Raylan said, laughing a little, "We're living together and fucking. What do you think we should call it?"

"We don't fuck," Boyd said stubbornly. 

"Not yet," Raylan said, almost as an aside. "And you knew what I meant. You said, when you came up to Lexington to get me, we should do what we want and not think about what it means. And that was right, for where we were then, it was what I needed."

"Nothing's changed," Boyd said.

"I have."

Boyd looked at him, his close-set eyes fixed on Raylan's face. He didn't answer. 

Raylan said, "When Cary Emerson asked me, I said, I'm with you now. That we're together. Because we are, right?"

"We-" Boyd closed his mouth suddenly and looked down. "I wasn't sure how long you'd want to stay. I know you came here because I said we needed you. _I_ needed you. And I thought, maybe you needed me too. But I thought once things settled down-"

Raylan launched himself on top of him and kissed him hard. "That's enough," he said, after he pulled his mouth away. "You're not making a goddamn bit of sense."

"You want to tell people we're in a- a relationship?" The word came out like it tasted bad, and Raylan laughed. 

"Boyd. I just don't want to lie. I'm in a better place now, here, with you, than I have been for a very long time. Maybe even before the Event. I don't care what we call it, or if we don't call it anything. I just want people to know, it's something good, and it's not anything should be so hard to understand. People have lost enough, I'm betting most will get that."

Boyd looked at him like he wasn't sure who he was, then put a hand on his already hardening cock. "Alright, Raylan," he said softly. "Then maybe we could quit it with this bullshit of asking permission every night, or tricking ourselves into it."

"Okay," Raylan said, sinking into the pleasure of Boyd's hand moving over him, "I'll just stay with you from now on. Oh, fuck, that feels good." He closed his eyes and leaned his head forward onto Boyd's shoulder. His mouth hung slightly open as Boyd worked him, breathing him in and wondering at how long he'd lived without letting himself want this. It's all he wants now, and he wants it all the time. 

He felt Boyd's dick against his hip, hard just from being close, just from touching Raylan, and he felt absurd tears prick the corners of his eyes. He picked up his head and pressed their lips together, moaning encouragement to Boyd and himself. When he came, he heard Boyd whisper his name, like he was the one getting off. 

Raylan met Boyd's eyes as he touched him, and held them in a way they normally avoided. Boyd tried to look away, but Raylan held his jaw with his free hand. Boyd came very quickly, staring into his eyes, and as far as Raylan was concerned, that was as close to hearing "I love you" as he would ever need from him.

That night, Raylan went to bed in Boyd's room, and has every night since. In the following weeks, they stopped holding themselves back in public, began allowing themselves to touch each other on the back, or the arm. 

They started smiling at each like they wanted to eat each other again, and one week at a swap meet, Boyd put his arm around Raylan's waist and kissed him on the cheek. The only reaction they got was a moment of silence, then a collective shrug and some averted gazes. The message got around, and some people were a little weird around them, until they weren't anymore. 

So, it's been awhile since Raylan's had to interact with anyone new to the fact of him and Boyd, or who didn't know them well enough to have a reason to ignore it. He's not looking forward to talking to this asshole, at all. 

The Bell County Sheriff is sitting behind his desk when Raylan walks in. He had attempted to raise him on the radio first, but was only able to leave a message for him that he was coming. 

Mason is thinner than when Raylan had first met him, when he'd been the very picture of a southern redneck cop, the kind you could picture opening a fire hose on a bunch of black kids, like in old footage from the 1960s. Or like the chain gang prison guard from _Cool Hand Luke_ , and Raylan is pretty sure they're about to have a "failure to communicate."

He's probably in his mid-fifties, and his jowls are hanging loose on his neck now, due to the current absence of donut shops. His lip curls as Raylan walks up, tips his hat and says, "Sheriff Mason."

"Givens. I'm having a having a hard time imagining what was so urgent it dragged you away from your little hillbilly version of San Francisco you got goin' on over there."

Raylan sighs and pulls up a chair from the corner of the room. "Much as I'd enjoy wiling away the day trading insults with you," he says, "there is, in fact, some very urgent business I'm in the middle of dealing with. I didn't want to talk about it over the radio, and I need you to keep this shit under wraps."

Mason frowns and says, "I can't promise nothin' until you tell me what's going on."

"Has anyone been reported missing in the last month or so? Maybe a little longer?"

"Why?" 

"Jesus Christ," Raylan says, close to the end of his worn-thin patience already. "I'm asking you, as a fellow officer of the law, a very simple question. You have to know I wouldn't be here if this weren't very fucking important."

Mason looks conflicted, his face twisted up with plenty of scorn, but Raylan can see the worry underneath, and he knows there's something.

"This little gal Kaylee Waters. Fifteen years old, her momma come in about a month and a half ago, like you said, told me the girl was gone. But she was wild, been runnin' around with grown men since she first grew tits. Her daddy beat up more'n one of 'em before he run off himself. I figured she left with one of 'em. I asked around with the ones I knew about, and the ones her momma Gail told me about, but they was all accounted for. Wasn't much else I could do. Put out a BOLO on her, but you know what that amounts to these days."

"Jack shit," Raylan replies.

"Exactly," Mason replies. "So now are you gonna tell me what the fuck this is about?"

"Did she have any identifying marks? Tattoos?"

"Givens, goddamn it-"

"Some bodies were discovered in my county, inside an abandoned house. Women's bodies. Badly decomposed." Raylan is pretty sure his face betrays how disturbed he still is by this fact, and the images that he can't quite get out of his mind. 

"Shit," Mason breathes. "You got pictures? Maybe I can identify-"

"Not yet," Raylan replies, "We will, but I don't know if that's gonna help much. They- they were decapitated. We're still looking for the heads."

"Kaylee had a pierced navel," he says, "and she was, uh... hang on." He roots through a drawer in his desk and comes up with a file. "She was 5'4, about 135 pounds." He looks up. "She was a... busty girl, always looked older than she was."

"Okay," Raylan says, unwillingly calling up the most decomposed of the three bodies. He does not want to think about her breasts, but he does anyway. He can't come up with anything to confirm or deny, though, sunken as the body had been. He doesn't remember noticing a piercing. "Don't say anything to her mother yet. You got a list of what she was wearing, or jewelry, or anything?"

"Yeah," Mason says, pulling out a pen and paper. "Here," he says, handing them over along with the folder. "Take whatever notes you want, but I'm keeping the file here."

Raylan nods. "My kingdom for a working copier," he says, and Mason grunts in agreement. "Could I take the photo? I swear I'll bring it back, but in case I do find... anything. Or if the coroner can use it in some way..."

Mason's lips press into a thin line, but he nods grudgingly. "If I don't get it back, you're going to have a problem with me, Givens."

As Raylan is leaving, Mason says, "I suppose you've already looked into and cleared the Crowder organization of involvement."

Raylan is immediately furious that the man would take an opportunity like this to get in another dig at him. He wheels around, but Mason already has his hands up and looks disgusted, seemingly with himself.

Raylan frowns and says, "This ain't drug running or whore mongering, Mason," he growls, and Mason drops his head. 

"I know. Forget I said it. Sometimes I forget what things are, now."

"I'll be in touch," Raylan says, and walks out.

The day is slipping away, so Raylan decides to put off any visits to other counties until the next day. He drives out to Tate's in case Emerson is still there, and is surprised to see Boyd's bicycle leaning out front.

He says hello to Mrs. Tate, the elderly woman who still runs the place with her daughter and son-in-law, and she tells him, "Your young man and the doctor are down in the workroom."

Raylan thanks her and hopes he'll remember to tell Boyd later - much later - about what she'd called him. 

Boyd has his camera out and is leaning in close to photograph something on one of the bodies. He snaps the picture, then looks up. "Hey, Raylan," he says, "I got some prints hung up to dry and figured you might want some more shots of the bodies."

"You ain't gonna puke again, are you?" Raylan asks, and Boyd shoots him a glare in response. 

"Anyway, asshole," he says, "take a look at this." He points to the place on the longest-dead corpse that he was photographing. 

Raylan walks over and realizes that he's now certain of the identity of this victim. There's a loose flap of skin, torn and caked with dried blood, on the side of her belly button. 

"She had a ring there," Raylan says, feeling ill. He hands Emerson the notes and photo he'd brought in with him. "Her name is Kaylee," he tells Boyd.

The doctor looks up from the papers and says, "It's hard to know what her weight was before she died, since she's so decomposed, but the height is correct, far as I can tell. It says she has a white birthmark on the back of her right shoulder." 

He hands Raylan some gloves, and they carefully flip her over. He shines a flashlight on her, and there it is. Hard to make out, on the rotting flesh, but it's there. The doctor motions to Boyd to take a picture.

Raylan sighs. "I'll have to tell Mason, and he'll want to tell her mother, but I'm concerned about this getting around."

"Women and girls need to know to look out for themselves," Emerson says, "maybe it would be good for it to get around."

"You'd think they'd already fucking know that," Boyd says, and Raylan can tell from his voice he's thinking about what happened to Ava.

"And even when they do know damn well," Raylan replies evenly, "it doesn't always help. Sometimes there's nothing anyone can do." 

He's looking straight at Boyd, who finally meets his eyes and nods. Emerson is pretending the whole exchange didn't happen, busying himself with the file again.

"Are you done here, Boyd?" Raylan asks. "Or do you have more pictures to take?"

"I think that was about it," Emerson puts in. "I'll write everything up and give it to Boyd tomorrow."

"You know," Raylan sighs, "I think I might need to hit up the meet tomorrow after all. I'm gonna need extra gas this month, and Carl should be there. I'll want to go early though, so I can bug the other counties' Sheriffs and spoil their Sunday dinners."

Boyd packs up his camera and they all start heading upstairs. "Actually, that's good, because I was talking to Bobby Dornan the other day about a chicken coop he's looking to unload, and I said I might be interested."

"What?" Raylan frowns at him like he's gone nuts. "You don't know nothing about keeping chickens."

"Now see," Boyd begins in his patented, annoyingly patient tone, "that's where you're wrong, son. I been readin' up. And Nancy said she had a couple hens she could trade, and she'd help me out with any problems I run into."

"Seems like a pain in the ass when we can just get 'em from them," Raylan says, "You got the still going good now, and people always want liquor."

"Well, Raylan, if I have the still and the chickens, then I'll really be in a good position to trade. Plus we can breed 'em, and we can actually eat a goddamn chicken once in awhile without having to trade away half the goddamn house."

They're out front now, and Emerson is obviously trying to suppress a grin. 

"I have to ask you, Emerson," Boyd says, irritably, "What is it always makes you look at us like you're gonna bust out laughing any second?"

The doctor shakes his head. "It's nothing, really. It's just," he says, laughing now like he really can't help it, "you both seem so, uh, well, there's really no way to say it that doesn't sound self-hating or offensive. But you're just, the way you are, and then you bicker like an old married couple when you get around each other. And it's just, I don't know, hilarious and really, um. Cute."

Raylan covers a grin with his hand, and Boyd gives the doctor an intense stare for a second before saying, "Well, I for one am deeply offended. You shouldn't traffic in stereotypes, son. Makes you look like an asshole."

"I'll keep that in mind, Boyd," Emerson says, nodding gravely. "Next time I see you in my office with your shirt off."

"Oh, shit," Raylan says, "he got you, Adolf."

"Shut up," Boyd replies, "you're both assholes. And I'm getting them chickens, Raylan."

Emerson goes back in to let Mrs. Tate know to leave the workroom locked, and that he'd be back the next day.

Boyd loads his bike into the back of the truck, and starts to head toward to passenger side. He looks up and catches Raylan in the act of rubbing at his eyes and yawning. 

"Gimme the keys, Raylan. You look just about done in, boy."

"It's been a long, fucked up day," Raylan says, handing him the key ring. "And I ain't exactly looking forward to going back out to fuckin' Bell County tomorrow and dealing with Mason, and then I'm gonna have to go and talk to that girl's mother."

"Yeah, that's gonna be terrible," Boyd says, pulling him in close. "So let's go home and I'll make you feel good now, alright?"

Raylan rests his forehead on Boyd's shoulder and says, "Alright."

Emerson comes banging out of the funeral home and walks toward them. As they pull apart, he says, "Aw." Boyd gives him the finger and asks him if he'd rather walk home.

They drop him off and head home. By the time they get there, the sun is low, and the cabin - surrounded by trees - is dark. Raylan lights the little oil lamp they keep just inside the front door. 

"We got some of that macaroni left, I can make some of that with those canned tomatoes and some garlic."

Raylan leans against the wall inside the door and huffs. "I ain't really hungry, Boyd. I could use a drink."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Boyd says. "I'm not sure I could eat much myself."

"Maybe just bring a jar and come sit out back with me. How would that be?"

Boyd smiles, nods and says, "That would be just fine."

They sit in a couple of plastic lawn chairs and hand the shine back and forth without talking for awhile. It's still uncomfortably warm and humid, even though the sun has gone down, and they've both stripped to their underwear. 

"Someone ought to take our picture," Raylan says, "They could use it for a tourism ad. I can see it now: 'Kentucky: It's exactly what you think it is.'"

Boyd snickers and takes a swig from the jar. "'...just a little gayer,'" he says. Raylan laughs. 

"I think it would have been a hit," Raylan says, waving off the shine when Boyd holds it out to him. Boyd screws the lid back on and sets it down.

"As horrifying as this day has been, Raylan," Boyd says, getting up, "we can still end it on a good note." He braces himself on the arms of Raylan's flimsy plastic chair and leans in to kiss him. 

Raylan reaches up and holds Boyd's head in his hand, then stands up and yanks his body close. Boyd slips his hand into the front of his shorts and smooths his fingers over him. Raylan lets out a small sound of pleasure as he trails his lips over Boyd's face, into his hair. 

"Let's go in," Boyd whispers to him. "I got more in mind than a hand job in the yard tonight."

Raylan groans and slides a hand into the back of Boyd's boxers. Boyd grins and says, "That's the idea."

Boyd is pulling him by the hand into the house, back to the bedroom. 

When he gets inside Boyd, he tries not to think much about anything. He concentrates on how it feels, and not what he'd seen that day, or his mood, which has turned distressingly melancholy, nostalgic for a time when there were tourism boards and telephones, a time when he would have laughed at the idea that fucking Boyd Crowder is the one thing in the world that makes any sense. 

It's not that he regrets anything about this. He even feels perversely grateful at times, for the way things fell apart so that he could find it. If the world could go back to normal, suddenly, he'd take it, and he thinks he'd still stay with Boyd, and Boyd would stay with him. He hates it that he's not sure, though, on either count. Not that it matters; he doesn't see anything getting back to the way it was, ever. 

He tries to shut it off, closes his eyes and tries to empty his mind, but it's not working, and he's starting to go soft. He feels Boyd's hand on his face, and hears him say, "It's alright, Raylan. Come here."

He pulls out and sinks down onto Boyd, kisses him and says, "I'm sorry. I don't know what my problem is."

"You're probably just getting old," Boyd says, grinning evilly. 

Raylan sighs. "I hate you," he says softly. 

"I hate you, too, darlin'," Boyd says, huffing a laugh into his ear. "No wait, I don't. I actually love you so much, Raylan."

Raylan can feel Boyd's heart pounding against his chest, like he's just said something terrifying, as if they haven't really been saying that to each other for a long time. He pulls him in tight and says, "I know, Boyd. Me too, but don't tell anyone."

"I'm sure it would come as quite a shock," Boyd replies, taking hold of his hand and kissing it. They stay close and fall asleep that way. In the middle of the night they wake briefly and sleepily get each other off, sinking back into sleep, sticky and sated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Boyd go to the swap meet and see some friends.

Morning comes with a gray and leaden sky, but it looks like the kind that might hang around for days before giving the relief of a little rain. It's not even eight yet, and the air in the cabin feels oppressive. 

Raylan pulls himself away from Boyd, grimacing slightly at the crusty mess on his stomach. Then he thinks of Boyd whispering to him in the night, rousing him without even opening his eyes, and smiles as he grabs a towel and heads out to the makeshift shower behind the house. Boyd had rigged it up almost a year prior, after reading some book about Eco-living or something. 

It can't compete with indoor plumbing, and the pressure is for shit, but it beats scrubbing yourself down with a rag and a bucket, which they make do with in the winter months. Nobody is as clean as they used to be these days. 

Boyd wanders out as he's finishing up, and takes his turn while Raylan gets dressed. They'd used the last of the coffee the day before, and its unlikely there will be any for trade this week. Anyway, it's too goddamn hot for it. 

He drinks a glass of the flat, filtered and boiled rainwater, then slices the last of the bread and spreads it with preserves. He's grateful there are still people who know how to do some of these things, and wonders how much harder the transition must have been in other places. 

Boyd comes in and takes one of the pieces of bread, and Raylan suddenly realizes he's fucking starving. They hadn't eaten anything the night before. It being the end of the week, they're low on provisions. 

"Just think," Boyd says, as Raylan roots around for more food, "we'll be able to just walk outside and have fresh eggs anytime."

Raylan rolls his eyes because it's expected, but he's quickly coming around on this idea, as long as Boyd deals with the details. 

"Let's get going," Raylan says. "I need to get ahold of the gas man before he runs out."

They load a few cases of shine and a box of random trade goods that Boyd has scavenged into the truck and head down to Nancy and Kathleen's farm. Raylan thinks of the first time they came here, the day after he and Boyd had pretty much freaked themselves and each other out with an unexpected sexual encounter. 

He's sure Boyd brought him there on purpose, to show him these two women who were together, happily, living in Harlan and not giving a shit about how anyone else thought things should be. It amazes him to think that Boyd had already been so far down the path of acceptance after such a short time. 

Today, as they pull up, there are tents and tables set up all over the front yard, piled with crates of vegetables, dry goods, canned goods, baked goods, and pretty much anything else that might be valuable for trade. 

There's no room left on any of the tables, so they just lower the back of the truck cab and pull the jars forward. People will find them. 

Boyd spots his buddy Bobby and grabs a case of the jars. While Boyd goes off to deal with him, Raylan wanders around to the various tables and chats with a few people, picking up some provisions for the following week. He gets some home-canned soup, a loaf of bread, some pickles, a small amount of butter, and a tube of toothpaste. 

They have some tomatoes and peppers in their plot, which Raylan always promises to help with, but only does when Boyd gets pissed off and drags him there. He wants eggs, but figures maybe Boyd will haggle for those along with his damn chickens. He doesn't want to trade away any more of the shine, because he needs it for gas. 

Carl, the gas man, has not arrived yet. He drives a beat to shit Pontiac station wagon from the 80s, with scratched up wood paneling on the sides, filled to busting with red gas cans. Presumably he scavenges and steals gas from cars from the surrounding area. He may also trade for people's gas rations. Raylan doesn't want to think too hard on it, because there are times when he really needs the fuel.

Raylan's sitting on the back of the truck, waiting for Boyd, when he sees Emerson arrive with his boyfriend Matthew, who looks so familiar to Raylan but he's never been able to put a finger on it. He has dark hair and is handsome, but in an exaggerated, comic book way, almost like his good looks are a kind of joke. Raylan waves at them, and they make a beeline for the truck. 

"Hey, Sheriff," Emerson says, handing him a manilla folder. 

"Thanks, doc," he says, "Morning Matthew."

"Morning, Raylan," the man says, holding out a hand, which Raylan shakes. "Cary told me about this. I can't believe shit like this is still happening in the world, you know? Like things aren't fucked up enough as it is."

Raylan nods slowly. "I guess the end of the world don't equal the end of crazy. You know to keep this quiet for now, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course." He eyes up the shine jars in the truck bed and asks, "You bring that to trade? I have some venison jerky. I went out with a hunting party last week and we got a buck."

Raylan smiles and says, "You know what, after all the help the doctor gave me yesterday, this one's on me. Well, on Boyd, technically, since he's the only one who fucks around with the still, but whatever." He grabs two jars and hands them to Matthew. "Enjoy."

"Thanks, Raylan!" He stows them in a cotton grocery bag he's brought, then raises his arm to greet someone. Raylan turns and sees Boyd approaching with Bobby Dornan, a skinny, hard-eyed ex-meth head who Boyd knew in prison, both toting parts of what Raylan has to assume is a chicken coop. 

Dornan is shirtless under a denim vest, a large confederate flag tattoo with a noose at the bottom displayed on his chest. Raylan sighs, and moves the rest of the shine out of the truck to make room. 

The man ignores him completely, and after loading the coop onto the truck, gives Boyd a rough hug, calls him brother, and walks off without speaking to anyone else. 

"He's charming," Emerson says. "We should have a dinner party."

"He shivved a guy in prison who was trying to kill me," Boyd says, and the three of them stare at him. "What?" he says flatly. "I ain't saying the guy ain't a fucking psycho, but he did have my back, so I'm gonna go ahead and trade with him if I feel like it, if that's alright with you people."

Raylan wants to laugh, his life is so bizarre, but at that moment he sees Carl, and grabs the rest of the shine and a gas can. 

"Raylan!" Boyd calls after him. "Now what am I gonna trade for the chickens?"

Raylan shrugs and keeps walking away. Carl sees him coming and gets his usual sly, shifty smile on. He reminds Raylan of Dickie Bennett a little bit, when he was younger, so he instinctively wants to hate him, but he has a sort of sweetness to his aspect that makes him unable to. Plus, he's even dumber than Dickie. 

"Hey there, Carl," Raylan says. 

"Sheriff Raylan, hello," the boy says, "Ain't seen you in a bit."

"I been around," he replies, "but didn't see you here last week. Didn't need no gas, so I didn't look real hard." He holds up the empty gas can. "How much for a full one?"

"Uh..." The boy looks like he's doing complicated math in his head, and then he says, "Six oughtta do it."

"Alright." He frowns at the kid. He looks even more distracted than usual. "You okay?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. That dude, the one was talkin' to Boyd?"

"Bobby? What about him?"

Carl shrugs. "He was fuckin' with me earlier, said he might take some of my gas, which he's done before, and I can't do nothin' about it. I could, though. I could shoot him. But I don't want to shoot nobody."

Raylan sighs hard. "I don't want you shootin' nobody neither, Carl. I'll talk to that asshole, get him to leave you alone. If he don't, let me know."

"Ain't he friends with your- with Boyd?"

"Sort of. But I wouldn't even let Boyd fuck with someone, just trying to scrape a living, so I won't be siding with that shady motherfucker either, alright?"

Carl smiles, relieved, and says, "Thanks Sheriff."

He swaps out Raylan's empty can for a full one, and Raylan loads the can and the leftover shine in the truck. Boyd is off somewhere he can't see him, so he strides over to Bobby Dornan, lurking in a corner of the lot with a pile of random shit on a tarp, mostly tools. 

Raylan stands with his hands tucked into his back pockets and stares Dornan down. He can feel the hate coming off the guy, but he's not sure if its because of who he is to Boyd, or simply because he's the law. Probably both, he thinks, and he says, "Bobby. I didn't get a chance to say hey when you were over by the truck. Maybe you didn't see me, busy as you were with Boyd."

"You afraid I'm gonna steal your boyfriend away?" he asks, then lets out an ugly snigger.

"Can't say that possibility crossed my mind. You're welcome to try, of course. No, what I came over here for was on account of some reports of threatening behavior."

"That little gas man freak been telling tales?"

"Son, you need to listen now. I'm the law, but I ain't the old kind of law, would fuck around gathering evidence and arresting you and holding you for trial. I'll beat your ass to a pulp if I hear anything about you stealing people's goods or hurting anyone. And you can think all you like that Boyd's your buddy, but you might want to consider the fact that I'm the one living with him, and I'm the one one tasked with protecting this goddamn county, on his family's say so. Think about whether you want to roll them dice."

It's a speech similar to one he might have given even before everything changed (minus being the law in Harlan at the Crowders' indulgence), but the difference now is that he means it. He could beat the shit out of Dornan without so much as a twinge of conscience. He wouldn't personally kill him unprovoked, but if he disappeared, Raylan wouldn't lose much sleep over it. 

Dornan glares at him and says, "I know Boyd. He wouldn't betray a brother over some fag who sucks his dick."

Raylan's mild expression shifts into a dangerous smile. "You do know he was engaged to the woman who killed his _actual_ brother, right?"

"Just 'cause he was fuckin' some gash his brother used to do, don't mean shit."

Raylan nods and replies, "I dare you to say that to him." He starts to walk away, and says over his shoulder, "I won't arrest him when he kills you."

He finds Boyd talking to Nancy at her table, which has eggs, among many other things, set out for trading. Matthew is there too, but not Emerson. Raylan can't stop glancing at him because he's so familiar, but its driving him crazy trying to figure it out. He thinks maybe it could be someone he worked with in Salt Lake, or even someone he apprehended, but that doesn't feel right. 

Raylan walks up and smiles a hello at Nancy, then says, "Boyd, I just threatened your jailhouse soul mate with violence. I thought you might want a moment to consider whose side to take up."

Boyd gives him a confused frown and asks, "What for? Being rude?"

"Well shit, is that a law on the books? Because I would hate to have to enforce that one, Boyd. I'd be sleeping alone a lot."

Boyd grins and says, "No you wouldn't. We'd be in the cell together."

"Anyways," Raylan says pointedly, "he's been menacing Carl the gas man. He stole from him before, and says he's going to again. I told him I'd hurt him if he did."

Boyd shrugs. "Sounds fair to me."

"I can't wait to tell Cary about this conversation," Matthew puts in.

Nancy giggles, a shockingly girlish sound coming from such a solid middle-aged earth mother of a woman. "Ain't they cute as fuckin' bunnies? I remember the first time they come around here, back before Raylan even moved back to Harlan. Kathleen says to me, 'Helen always thought them two was screwin', but I didn't believe it until today.' And now look at 'em." She beams at them like she's their damn mama, and Boyd huffs in annoyance. 

Raylan tries a look of patient exasperation, if that's even a thing, and says, "Boyd, I gotta get going if I'm gonna make it up to Hazard and over to Whitesburg today. And I really should head down to Pineville first, talk to that- that woman."

"Alright," he says. "Nancy, I'll be by tomorrow to start digging out the shower area. Just figure out where you want it to go. Should only take me a week or so."

"Okay, sweetheart. You can take the hens whenever you're ready for 'em."

They say goodbye to her and Matthew, and a few other people on their way to the truck. Boyd is driving back to the cabin, and he's got a smirk on his face that Raylan knows means Boyd thinks he's got something over on him. 

"Spit it out," Raylan says. 

"I think you got a little crush on the doc's boyfriend." 

"What? No!" Raylan says, laughing. "Why would you say that? He ain't even my type. He's too handsome."

"Real nice, Raylan," Boyd says, cutting a dirty look at him. "How would you even know what your type is anyway? I'm the only guy you've ever been with."

"Jesus, Boyd, I don't know. But seriously, why do you think that? It's really not true, I never even thought about him like that."

"You stare at him." 

Raylan frowns and rubs at his forehead, hoping that the man himself never noticed that, or Emerson. "It's only because he looks so fucking familiar. I keep thinking I know him from somewhere, or that he looks like someone I used to know, but I can't get it."

Boyd is grinning, shaking his head. "Now it makes sense. And I know exactly who he looks like."

"You do? Who? It's making me crazy."

‘You know," Boyd says, "I could tell you, but if I do you'll just be aggravated with yourself for not figuring it out."

"God, I hate you," Raylan says, and Boyd just grins in response. "So you're building them a shower?" he asks. 

"Yeah, that's what I'm doing in trade for the chickens. They're also gonna give me some feed to start out."

Raylan looks over at him, then back at the road with a smile. "Okay," he says, "sounds good."

Boyd looks at him like he's trying to decide if he's being sarcastic, but he isn't, really. Boyd's enthusiasm for things is sort of charming, and anyway, he's usually right. At least these days he is, when his instincts don't involve constantly trying to get one over on everyone else, and killing the people who get in his way. This is one of those times when Raylan can see the good that's come from things being the way they are now.

He helps Boyd unload the stuff and haul it around back for Boyd to put together. He brings the bag of food into the kitchen, and pauses to look through the medical report for the first time. 

The first victim, Kaylee, was killed approximately six weeks ago, the next one, about three weeks ago after that, and the most recent one around a week ago. The decapitation was done post-mortem, but he was unable to determine cause of death. There are no fatal wounds visible on the body, and he suggests strangulation or suffocation as a strong possibility. 

The second victim had no piercings other than her ears, but the third victim had a tattoo of a bar of musical notes around her bicep. 

There were clear signs of sexual activity in all three bodies, including a great deal of semen in their vaginas. There's no way of knowing whether this occurred before or after their deaths, but Raylan has a sick feeling he knows which it is. 

None of the women had ever given birth, but the second victim had been pregnant at one time and had either miscarried or had an abortion. They all appeared to be between the ages of 14 and their mid-20s, but Emerson was unable to narrow it down further.

Raylan goes back out behind the house where Boyd is already working on assembling the chicken coop. "I'm heading out," he calls. 

Boyd looks up and puts down the hammer he's holding. "You'll be gone all day, I guess."

Raylan nods and sighs, walking over to him. "Weekends ain't what they used to be," he says, putting his hands on Boyd's shoulders.

"That's okay, I'll keep myself busy." He leans in closer and lifts his face up to Raylan, and they kiss perfunctorily. Boyd frowns suddenly, and says, "Raylan, If you need me, I'll come with you today. This can wait."

"Thanks. I'll be fine, though. It's my job." He winks and says, "You just work on getting them chickens in and laying."

"Yeah, alright," Boyd says, a little reluctantly. "But you'll tell me if you need my help, right?"

"I will," Raylan says, giving his arm a squeeze, then pulling himself away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan's investigation continues.

Raylan heads down to Bell County first, and stops in to give Sheriff Mason the news. The man looks genuinely upset, and Raylan asks if he wants to come along to the girl's mother's house when he breaks the news and interviews her. He does, and they drive out together in the Sheriff's car. 

"You're doing a lot of driving, Givens," he says, when Raylan tells him of his plans for the rest of the day. "How are you managing on gas? I guess the Crowders got some kinda racket going with that?"

Raylan laughs, but the supposition isn't really that far-fetched, when he thinks about it. "No," he replies, "although maybe I should suggest it to Johnny. People need gas more than whores these days. At the present time, we just rely on the gas men like everyone else. Mostly Carl, if you know him."

"Oh sure," Mason says. "He comes by a couple times a month."

"Truth be told," Raylan says after awhile, "though I wouldn't wish for anything like this to ever happen, I wouldn't mind more excuses to drive around like this. I miss it. I drove all the time before, being a Marshal. Some people hated it, but I never did."

"Me neither," Mason says quietly, looking out at the road. "The car's a good place to think."

They pull up to a small house with dirty aluminum siding that maybe used to be yellow. There's a small patch of mown weeds and grass in front, though most of the yard is grown up like in most places. 

A woman is coming out of the front door by the time they're out of the car, her face betraying her worst fears, which Raylan knows their presence confirms. 

"Gail," Mason starts, but she cuts him off quickly.

"She's gone, isn't she? Pete, just tell me," she says, her eyes wide.

"I'm sorry," he says, taking hold of her as she crumples. 

After a minute or so, she lets them into the house. Mason introduces Raylan, and she nods and says, "You're the one from Harlan who used to be a Fed. What are you doing out here?"

"Ma'am," Raylan says, thinking how familiar this task feels, and how much he always hated it before, "We believe your daughter was among three young women who we discovered murdered in Harlan County. I'm so sorry," he says helplessly, as she begins to sob. 

"Can I see her?" she asks in a cracking, whispery voice, and Raylan winces.

"Unfortunately, the bodies were in an advanced state of decomposition by the time they were found, and at this time..." He pauses and looks at Mason, who is patting her back. Mason nods, and Raylan goes on. "Whoever did this, they removed the heads. After death. We identified your daughter by the birthmark you described in your initial report. Your daughter's body is in Harlan, and has been autopsied. We'll be happy to arrange for cremation and I'll bring you the ashes. I would strongly urge you not to view the body in person. When it's ready, I can bring you the photo of the birthmark so you can confirm."

"Oh my God," she says, horror all over her face. 

"Can you tell me anything about the day she went missing? I know you told Sheriff Mason, but-"

"There's nothing else. She was walking to fetch some milk from the Banks's farm a couple miles away. We had a little argument because she was giving me a hard time about it, said it was too hot and the milk would probably spoil, but I was gonna use it for baking anyway so it didn't matter too much. Then I never saw her again.

"We never found no milk bottles or nothing," Mason interjects, "but the Banks woman did say she'd been there." Raylan knew that, it had been covered in the report.

"Alright," he says, standing. "I need to get on, I have a lot of ground to cover."

Mason nods and tells Gail Waters that he'll come back. 

"Any suggestions as to what I should be doing with this, Givens?" he asks as they walk to the car. "I'm just a small town cop, I ain't got experience with anything like this." Raylan is surprised at the request, and thinks he might have to reassess some things he'd assumed about the man.

"Well," Raylan says, sliding into the passenger side, "This ain't really the kind of shit we had to deal with in the Marshals either. Mostly the Feebs handled this type of business. But from an investigative standpoint, I'd say you need to talk to everyone, try to find out if anyone new has come around, and especially find out what was happening that day. You never know what might help, so write everything down. I'll be back in touch after I talk to the other counties. Maybe we'll find something in common, if they have missing girls."

"Yeah. Alright." He goes quiet for the rest of the ride back to the station. After they arrive, Mason says, "You think there's gonna be more?"

Raylan closes his eyes for a second, then looks at Mason. "Yeah. I think we can pretty much count on it, unless we find this motherfucker and fast."

Mason nods. "Okay. I'm- I'm glad you're on it, Givens."

Raylan shakes his hand, but doesn't really know how to respond. "I'll be back during the week some time," he says. "If you want, I'll bring the dump scene photos and the ones Boyd took at the mortuary. Maybe we could talk about what we know so far, and you can run out to the Virginia counties and talk to the law there? I only got so much liquor to trade away for gas."

Mason snorts, but says, "Yeah. I want to help. I was supposed to be protecting this girl."

Raylan drives fast up to Perry County, and things are not looking so good up there, law-wise. It seems a few local biker thugs have taken over things in Hazard, the county seat, and the surrounding towns are just scraping by. He thinks he might clue the Troopers in on the situation, but realizes its unlikely that they don't already know. No wonder they leave him alone to do as he pleases in Harlan. 

He talks to a few people in the one bar that's still in operation, but no one will tell him where to find the leaders of the gang running things. Seems like a girl could go missing easy from a place like this, and no one would think too hard where she might have gone. 

Over in Whitesburg, the Sheriff gives him a couple of possible women's names. One is a 17 year old girl named Macy who disappeared from her parents' house the month before, and the other is a 23 year old woman, Sarah, whose 19 year old boyfriend reported her missing. The Sheriff had assumed she probably took off with someone else, maybe an older guy, but her boy seemed to think it was true love, and there's no way she'd have run off. 

Neither missing woman is reported to have a tattoo.

Raylan goes to see Macy's parents first, and they quickly inform him that they'd seen her in the previous week, coming around with the 35 year old biker trash she'd started seeing. At 17, there isn't much they can do about it, so Raylan just tells them they should let the Sheriff know to close the missing persons case, then drives out to have a chat with Sarah's 19 year old, Damon.

They'd been living in a trailer on the edges of his parents' property, and when Raylan pulls up in front, he's struck by how kept up the place looks. It's fairly clean, and the little "front yard" is recently mown. There are flowers in a little bed by the steps. There are weeds growing up in that, and Raylan wonders if that was Sarah's job. There are two plastic chairs in front of the trailer, and Raylan can't help but think of his and Boyd's own place. This looks like a place where people were happy, or at least content. 

Damon comes to the door of the trailer and opens it a crack, peering out into the dull day. He looks like he just woke up, and maybe like he's hungover. He's a light-skinned black kid, with freckled cheeks and bleary, red-rimmed eyes. Like he's been crying. 

"What you want?" he asks, and Raylan pulls out his badge.

"Just have a few questions about your girlfriend, assuming you're Damon Mayfield. I'm Raylan Givens, Harlan County Sheriff."

"I already talked to Sheriff Smith," he says, frowning suspiciously. "I'm the one who reported her missing."

Raylan holds his hands up defensively and says, "I know you did. I read the report. I just have a couple more questions, and I'll leave you be."

The kid nods and comes out of the trailer in sweatpants and an undershirt. He looks like maybe he's not been doing so well. He thinks of what Boyd looked like after Ava was killed; he thinks of what he might look like if something were to happen to Boyd now. Something like this, probably, or worse. 

"Can we sit?" Raylan asks, gesturing at the chairs. A shadow seems to pass over the boy's eyes, but he nods and sits down. "How long were you and Sarah together?"

"Almost a year," he replies quietly.

"Any problems from other people? You being so much younger, maybe, or, maybe some weren't too thrilled about the interracial relationship?"

Damon shrugs. "We didn't get no grief from anyone except our own families. Her family cut her off, said she could come back when she ditched the nigger. My family didn't like it much more, but they was comin' around a little. They always said they liked her, they just didn't want me with her. She tried real hard, though."

"How'd you end up hookin' up with someone four years older than you?"

The kid smiles like he's remembering something real nice and says, "We worked together at the Dairy Queen when I was in high school. My first job. I had a crush on her, but I was sixteen and she seemed like a grown adult woman. Then all that shit happened, and I ran into her one day last year at a food tent the state had set up, giving away canned goods and whatever. We got to talking and... well, you know, sometimes you just feel it."

Raylan nods, because he does know.

"I guess before it woulda seemed weird," Damon continues, "me being so much younger. Some people still saw it that way. But like, things ain't like before. You find someone, who the fuck cares if the girl is older, or you know, whatever. I know she didn't leave me, Sheriff. Something happened to her, and I don't care if you think I'm just some dumb kid. I know."

"Do you know if Sarah was ever pregnant?" he asks, and winces at the sorrow he sees on the kid's face.

"Yeah," he says, "she got pregnant about three months after we were together. She lost it. At the time, we were kinda relieved. I know that's awful."

"No, it ain't," Raylan says. "It's understandable. My ex lost our baby too. It's possible to feel terribly sad and glad about something at the same time."

Raylan knows there's a good chance this woman is one of their bodies, but he doesn't feel he had enough evidence to tell the kid for sure. "Is there something in your place that would have her fingerprints on it? I'm afraid we need to compare them to the prints of a person who was found dead outside of Harlan."

All the air seems to go out of the kid for a few seconds, but he drags himself up and into the trailer, coming back after a minute or so with her hairbrush, holding it with his fingertips. Raylan gives him a smile and grabs a plastic bag from his glove compartment. "I'll let you know when I know anything, son," he says.

Damon nods dispiritedly and says, "I'm sure it's her. I know she wouldn't have left me on purpose." Raylan claps him on the shoulder and leaves. 

He heads straight back to Harlan, rolling back into town after dark, close to seven. He can see the faint glow of an oil lamp in the living room window as he pulls up to the house. 

Boyd looks up from his book as he comes in, then sets it aside and walks over to him. His eyes are worried, which makes Raylan realize what he probably looks like. "I'm alright," he tells Boyd. "I'm just tired. And hungry."

Boyd says, "Don't try to bullshit me, Raylan. I know you're tired and hungry, but that ain't all of it. That's okay though, baby, you don't have to tell me now. I'll get you a sandwich first."

Raylan pulls him in by the waist and rests their foreheads together. "Thank you," he says, and Boyd pulls back, looking at him funny. 

"You're welcome," he says, "Now go sit down."

Boyd makes him a sandwich with tomatoes, lettuce, onions and some kind of soft cheese on the bread he'd gotten that morning. It's truly delicious, and he wonders at how satisfying a meal without any meat can be when you're really hungry. He tries not to think of how good a hamburger would be. Or a steak. 

After he eats and puts the plate down, Raylan lets his head drop into Boyd's lap, lets Boyd stroke his hair until his eyes start to feel heavy. Then Boyd asks, "So are you gonna tell me what made you so sad?"

Raylan closes his eyes and reaches a hand up to rub Boyd's thigh. "I think I found out who another of the girls is. I talked to her boyfriend this afternoon."

"Oh? He take it hard?"

"I didn't tell him for sure, but he knows. He said he knew she wouldn't have left, because she loved him. She was the love of his life, and I had to tell him she's probably dead. And that- that really sucked, because I actually believed him. He's nineteen, and I believed him when he said he'd found a love for the goddamn ages."

Boyd is stroking the side of his face now, and he says, "Nineteen, huh? And he's lost the love of his life. That is sad, indeed. But baby, he's young enough he can probably find another."

"You think so, huh? It's so easy to find another love of your life?"

"I think it's hard, and you have to be both brave and lucky. But if you've already found true love once, you already know you're both of those things. I know it's true, Raylan. And so do you. We're living proof, son."

Raylan turns over so he can look Boyd in the face. "Maybe you are," he says. "I loved Winona, but not like you loved Ava. I saw what you had with her - even though it made me mad most of the time. I always thought she coulda done better than you."

"You were right," Boyd says, smiling a little.

"And I didn't feel about Winona the way I feel about you," Raylan says, looking him straight in the eyes. "You're the only one I ever gave myself up to."

"Are you saying I'm the love of your life?" Boyd asks with some amusement.

"Something like that," Raylan replies. 

"Come up here, Raylan," Boyd says, and it sounds like a command. Raylan obeys it easily, pulls himself up and climbs on top of Boyd. 

Raylan takes Boyd's face in his hands and looks at him for a moment. His face is so familiar, and has meant so many different things to Raylan in the past, evoked so many different emotions. He's been a friend, an ex-friend, an enemy, and now, somehow, his love. 

His _partner_ , that 20th century invention, a way to connote someone you spend your life with but aren't allowed to marry. But in this world, in their life here, the word feels like it really means something. They are partners, they work together to keep living, which takes so much more constant effort than it used to. 

Raylan had meant to say something to him, but now he can't find the words. Boyd always has words - sometimes way too many - but any that come to Raylan's mind seem trite, inadequate. 

Instead of talking, then, he pushes Boyd's head back into the sofa with a kiss, tucking his body in tight against him. 

Boyd smiles and tilts his head to the side when Raylan breaks the kiss. "What about you, Raylan? Don't you think you coulda done better than me?"

Raylan holds his eyes and shakes his head slowly. "I was wrong. Wrong about you and her, I mean. I didn't get it, but now I do. But you and me, that's different anyway."

"You and me started a long time ago," Boyd says, leaning forward to kiss him again, soft, on his neck. 

"You and me walked through fire to get here, Boyd," Raylan says, in what he knows Boyd will take as agreement. He takes Boyd's mouth again and starts to undo his jeans. 

"That's why I'm always burnin' for you," Boyd says, laughing a little at his own cheesiness. Raylan just nods.

"Sounds right to me," he says, taking Boyd's cock out of his pants and running his fist over it very slowly as he kisses him some more. 

Boyd makes a helpless, wordless sound, and gives himself over to Raylan's hands and mouth. He's shaking by the time he gets to come, one of Raylan's hands up inside of him and the other on both of their cocks, and Raylan can't believe how beautiful Boyd looks to him right now. 

He stills for a minute, the two of them breathing in concert, hearts pounding against each other's chests. Then Boyd pushes him back and lowers his mouth to Raylan's nipple, sucking it between his teeth, and Raylan gasps, pulling up fast on their lengths, and says, "Now- please, now, come on." He feels Boyd grow harder, feels him contract against his hand, feels the hot come spurting out, and his own follows immediately. 

Boyd's breath is hot in his ear, huffing out the last of his release, and Raylan squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, still holding him down with his weight, not wanting him to get up yet. 

Boyd touches his sweaty hair, pushing it out of his face. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come back here, Raylan. I was floundering. Harlan was, too. Wasn't just me who needed you."

Raylan is shaking his head, because he knows, the need was on his end just as much. The need was all around back then, everyone was lost. 

He sighs, feeling done with talking, with thinking, even with feeling, at the moment. "You want to play some music with me?" he asks. 

Boyd grins and says, "Sure. Although, I have to admit, my skill at the guitar has not increased as rapidly as your sexual repertoire over the last two years."

They take it outside, along with some whiskey of unknown provenance they'd gotten from Johnny in exchange for some of the government food chits Raylan receives from the state as a representative of local law enforcement. Cash is still in use to some degree, but it doesn't do a great deal of good unless you live in an urban center - and even there, its value is uncertain. 

Boyd starts playing something something old that it takes a minute for Raylan to figure out, and then he realizes it's Hank Williams. He doesn't know the words to this one, though he faintly remembers it on the record player at his house as a kid. 

"You sing it, Boyd. I don't know it well enough."

Boyd laughs a little and says, "Nobody wants to hear that."

"I do," he says, "and I'm the only one here. Come on, I can't sing either, but I do, for you."

Boyd smiles and shrugs, then starts in a very soft voice, like he's only singing to himself. 

_Everybody says you let me down  
That I should be ashamed to take you round  
Makes no difference what you used to do_

Raylan smiles as he remembers the name of the song, and joins him on the next line.

_Darlin', I could never be ashamed of you._

The next verse comes back to him, and he sings it, louder than Boyd, but still quiet.

_Maybe you were reckless yesterday  
But together, we can find a brighter way.  
In my heart, I know that you'll come through  
Darlin', I could never be ashamed of you_

Neither of them remembers how the rest of it goes, so Boyd just plays out a few more bars before he stops. It's a good song for them, he thinks. Like their theme song. 

They do a little George Jones and a little Loretta Lynn, but when Boyd starts playing something that sounds suspisciously like Toby Keith, Raylan knows its time to go to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new development in the case prompts Raylan to seek help from some old friends.

Raylan is up early the next morning, out of bed and dressed before Boyd even wakes up. He's pulling on his boots when Boyd sits up, rubbing at his eyes. 

"What's the plan today?" Boyd asks.

"Gonna go in and try to put everything together in a way that makes some kind of sense. Make a summary for Mason over in Bell County, then I guess... drive over there and talk him through what he needs to do to help. Do you have those photos ready?"

"Yeah," Boyd replies, getting out of bed and throwing on some jeans. "I'll get them."

Raylan is out the door about twenty minutes later, grabbing a peach and a slice of bread with peanut butter for the road, and kissing Boyd on the cheek. Boyd laughs at him a little, but Raylan ignores it and just walks to the truck. 

Emerson had pulled prints from all three of the bodies, and Raylan starts by dusting the hairbrush. He finds a pretty good one on the back of the lacquered surface, probably a thumb. He stares at them side by side, then realizes he needs a magnifying glass. This manual comparison shit sucks, and he wishes impotently for a computer. 

He hunts around in the office, then in a storage closet, finally coming up with what seems to be one of those magnifying bars old people sometimes used to read with. He makes a note that he really has to get some appropriate tools for police work in the post-Event world. 

Magnified, there's no doubt in his mind that the prints are a match. He sits at his desk and reads through the reports. The last time Damon had seen the second victim, Sarah, had been the morning of the day she'd gone missing. He had some work lined up for the day, repairing a bridge, and she was planning to see her brother, the one member of her family she was still on speaking terms with. He lived on the other side of town. According to the brother, she never arrived.

So, both of the known victims had walked long distances the day of their disappearance. They'd been alone on the road, and had been taken from there, so it stands to reason that it was someone with a car, and willing to drive the not insignificant distance between Pineville and Whitesburg, and who knows where else.

He's taking some detailed notes to give to Mason, and he's been at it for forty-five minutes or so, when Johnny Crowder comes striding into the office, only limping a little bit these days. 

Johnny doesn't wait for Raylan to greet him before saying, "Why didn't you tell me about them bodies, Raylan?"

Raylan gazes at him for a few beats before replying, "Didn't occur to me."

"Damn it, you need to let me know what's going on in this county, _Sheriff_. You're workin' here because I say you can." Johnny is glaring at him, trying to intimidate, but Raylan has never been afraid of him. 

"Johnny," he says calmly, "While I do appreciate the foot in the door you gave me, and while I very much want to maintain a cordial relationship with you, us bein' kinda sorta almost family, I do not owe you and will not be providing you with regular updates on police business. I been keeping this quiet for good reasons."

Johnny scowls at him and says, "You suckin' my cousin's dick don't make us family."

Raylan has to laugh. He says, "Why does everyone say it like that? Is that just, like, the limits of what your mind will allow you to imagine? I mean, not that I want you imagining our personal business, but shit, you don't make it sound like a very good deal for me."

"Christ, Givens. I did not come here to talk about what you and Boyd do in the bedroom. I can't even believe I'm saying that." Johnny looks so uncomfortable that Raylan almost feels sorry for him. 

"Johnny," Raylan says, wanting to move the conversation along, "Was there some reason you came here to tell me how pissed off you are that I didn't keep you apprised of this situation?"

"Melinda is gone," he says, and Raylan thinks he actually looks worried. Melinda is one of Johnny's whores, a nice girl as far as Raylan's been able to tell. "Ain't in her trailer, didn't say nothing to me. None of the girls have seen her since yesterday, and when I mentioned it to Boyd he told me to come see you. I didn't get why I should, so he told me what you found up there."

"Maybe she just moved on, man," Raylan says. "She is a prostitute. They ain't exactly the most reliable group of people around."

"I ain't saying it's impossible," Johnny says, "but it's fucking weird. She seemed fine, no complaints. She was the bubbly type, you know? I saw her yesterday morning and everything was normal, then she was gone by the afternoon. It was her day off, I think she mighta had a boyfriend, Amber said she was going to meet a guy."

"Amber mention the guy's name?"

"Nope," Johnny says, "and I don't concern myself with their personal lives."

Raylan nods, worried now. He has no real reason to think the same guy got Melinda as the other ones, but for whatever reason, he feels certain of it. 

After Johnny leaves, Raylan drives out to the trailers and finds Amber, who smiles seductively at him as she comes to the door. "Hey Sheriff," she says, "You need a little change of scenery? You came to the right girl, honey."

"I'll keep it in mind," he says, tipping his hat at her, "but I'm just here to ask you a few questions. Johnny said you talked to Melinda yesterday."

She nods, frowning now. "She was going to see some guy. I really wish I knew his name, but she don't talk much about her private life. She's a real sweet girl, you know, almost... I know you're gonna think this is stupid to say about a whore, but she's shy."

"I don't think it's stupid at all," he says gently. "I know you don't know his name, but did she say anything about him?"

"I know he gave her these earrings, she showed 'em to me once. They mighta been diamonds, or at least she thought so. She'd only wear them when she went to see him."

"That could be helpful, thank you. Anything else?"

"Just that he was gonna take her for a drive. She missed riding in a car, you know?"

"Yeah," Raylan says, tilting his hat back to scratch his head. "I know the feeling. Thanks, honey."

He searches Melinda's trailer and doesn't find anything helpful. He feels like this thing is getting away from him, and that the whole thing is resting on his shoulders. If he can't stop a man from killing innocent girls, then what is he doing here, anyway? He's just a stooge for Johnny Crowder, then, not a lawman at all.

He climbs into the driver's seat of his car and pounds the steering wheel, cursing in frustration. Putting his plans to drive to Pineville on hold, he stops back at the house to tell Boyd he's driving to Lexington to talk to Art. He needs more help than Pete Mason can give him, but he doesn't want to try to do this over the air. 

Boyd is not at home, so Raylan heads out to Nancy and Kathleen's, where he finds Boyd out back, surrounded by piles of PVC and reclaimed lumber. He looks up as Raylan gets close and gives him a big smile.

"Hey! What you doing here?" He puts down the wrench he's holding and walks over. 

"Hey, Boyd," he says. "I hear you talked to Johnny."

Boyd's face falls a bit, and he says, "I'm sorry, Raylan. I realized that might have been a mistake after-"

"No," Raylan says, touching him on the arm and trying to give a reassuring smile, "It was the right thing to do. I told Johnny to warn the other girls about it, but asked him not to give any details. I'm scared, though, Boyd. It ain't like before - its really hard trying to find people now."

Boyd nods and takes up his hand. "So why'd you stop out here?"

Raylan sighs and takes off his hat, then wipes his brow on his sleeve. It's another grey, hot, heavy day. "I need help with this. Like, real help from people who might actually have some resources and experience. I need to go talk to Art, see if the Marshals can help."

Boyd frowns. "Johnny ain't gonna like that."

"I can't worry about that now," Raylan says. "If he wants to push me out for it, that's on him. You and I will get on just fine. But if I don't, and more girls get their heads chopped off and their bodies defiled, that'll be on me. I can't live with it. You know that."

"Of course I know, baby. I wasn't saying don't. You gonna stay in the city overnight?"

Raylan looks at his watch. "It's noon now, so if I get there by two and talk to him, I should be able to get back at a reasonable hour."

"Alright. But I was just about to eat lunch, and I'm sure the ladies will want to feed you too. Come in for a few minutes, anyway."

They head in through the kitchen door, and Kathleen greets them. "I thought I heard your voice, Raylan Givens. You coming here to distract my contractor while he's putting in my fancy bathroom reno?"

"Sorry, ma'am," Raylan says, taking off his hat and giving her a lopsided grin. "I have to go to Lexington on some official business, so I wanted to let him know I'd be back kinda late."

She gives him a dark look as she slides a plate with a bacon sandwich in front of him. His eyes widen and he looks up at her in wonder.

"I got it from Tommy Quinn, the pig farmer," she says. "I won't even tell you what I had to trade away, so you best be grateful."

Raylan nods vigorously, but doesn't answer because he's too busy eating. It's just bacon, but it tastes like a goddamn miracle.

"Is this about them girls?" she asks. Raylan pauses to glare at Boyd, but he shakes his head and shrugs. "He didn't say nothing," she says. "I got it from Wayne Durbin. He seemed pretty messed up about it, truth be told."

"Can't say I blame him," Boyd says. "Never seen anything like that bad."

"I'm going to ask for help," Raylan says. "Before it gets any worse."

Boyd walks him out to the car and puts his arms around his waist. "Drive safe," he says. 

Raylan kisses him and replies, "I'll see you tonight." 

"Hate you," Boyd says with a wink.

Raylan laughs and drives off. The drive to Lexington is familiar, but provokes an uneasy feeling in him, as if somehow he's turning back time by making the trip. It feels like it could be any normal day, back before everything went sideways, coming back from Harlan. Heading home to Lexington, back when it still sort of felt like that. 

He doesn't want it, not anymore. He has Boyd, a house, food to eat and even a goddamn chicken coop, now. It's enough. He laughs out loud in the quiet of the car. Things change, that's for damn sure. 

As he gets close to Lexington, he can see how different things are looking. The sides of the road have been cleared of the stalled cars that used to dot the highway, and there are none of the shabby encampments that had housed all sorts of loosely based mini-communities. 

There's a checkpoint at the city limits, which raises his eyebrows a bit. All they do is check his ID and make a note of his license plates and car, but he has to wonder how long it's going to be before they close off the city. It's fucked up. 

He heads towards the Marshals office, and finds it deserted. The only thing he can think of is that they might be back at the courthouse, so he drives over there and finds it in use again. 

They make him check his weapon at the door, even though he's licensed to carry and is a police officer. He feels vulnerable, heading up to the office unarmed, although he knows that doesn't make sense. Hardly anyone is accustomed to going anywhere without protection these days. 

Rachel Brooks is the first person he sees when he walks into the office, but he almost fails to recognize her. Her hair, once long and processed, feminine, has been shorn into a short natural style. She's wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, and looks like she's been working out. She looks hot, actually, and intimidating, but when her face breaks into a smile at the sight of him, he doesn't think she looks very different. 

"Raylan!" she exclaims, coming out from behind her desk. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Rachel," he says, still sort of staring at her. "I was hoping to talk to Art. Is he around?"

"Sure, in his office." She leans in and speaks quietly. "You looking for your job back?"

Raylan shakes his head and gives a little laugh. "No," he says, "the job I got is currently providing plenty to keep me busy. That's kind of what I need to talk to him about."

He looks over to see Tim standing by his desk, which is in the same place as Raylan's once was. He's got a scar running up the side of his face, just into the hairline. _Jesus, what the hell has been happening here_ , he thinks, feeling almost guilty. 

Raylan walks over to shake his hand, and he notices a stone-faced guy sitting behind the partition between his and Tim's desk.

"How's it going, man?" Tim asks. "You getting bored out in the hills yet?"

"Well, it was getting a little quiet, but we got us a real mystery to solve now."

"A mystery? Is that what you call any crime that wasn't committed by your buddy Crowder's crew?" Tim's arms are crossed and he's sort of smirking at him. Raylan shrugs. 

"Three women were discovered murdered and decapitated in Harlan County. So far I know who two of them are. It's possible that a fourth was taken yesterday from Harlan. That's my goddamn mystery. Okay?"

"Jesus," Tim breathes. "Sorry, Raylan. I was just fucking with you, man, I didn't realize."

"Gotta talk to Art," Raylan says, "How's he feelin' about me these days? Any idea?"

Raylan had seen Art once, about six months moving to Harlan. He'd come down for a man that Raylan was holding, a fugitive who had come through the area a week before. Art had picked up the prisoner, and he'd been friendly with Raylan, joked around a bit like the old days, but he'd looked at him with searching, worried eyes when he thought Raylan wasn't looking. 

Tim tilts his head like he's thinking about it, then says, "He was worried for awhile, but after he saw you, it was more like he was pissed off. Almost like... hurt, or something. Like you took him to the movies and didn't call after, but he's trying to act like its no big deal." He glances furtively at the glass-walled office where Art works, and says, "Do not tell him I said that."

"Wasn't about him," Raylan says, feeling a little defensive, and like he was an asshole by accident, yet again. "I couldn't take being here anymore, and I had... something waiting for me somewhere else."

"I know that. _He_ knows that. But you know how he always was with you, like you're the pain in the ass son he never had. Besides..." Tim trails off like he'd decided maybe he shouldn't say anything else.

"What, Tim?"

"You going off with Crowder like that. I mean, he always figured you'd lied to him about you not being friends when you were young, but it made him sort of look at the stuff that happened after you came back in a new light."

Raylan sighs heavily. "Yeah, well. I've been doing the same, in all honesty. But at the time, it was all in good faith."

Tim frowns and asks, "What does that mean?"

"I wasn't thinking all that clearly, back then, maybe. But I was as honest with him as I was with myself. Or, almost, anyway."

Tim clearly doesn't know what to make of this, but he doesn't press for further clarification. Out of the corner of his eye, Raylan sees Art come to stand in the doorway of his office. He nods once at Tim and walks over.

"Raylan," Art greets him. 

"Hey, Art," he returns, working on a smile. 

"Come on in," Art says, standing aside. Raylan goes into the office and closes the door. "What brings you up here?"

Art sits behind his desk, and Raylan pulls a chair closer to the other side of it. "I got a problem," Raylan says. "I came to ask for your help, or at least, advice."

Art stares at him for a few moments, then nods gravely. "Alright," he says, "Let's hear it."

Raylan takes a breath and begins, laying it out from the morning Wayne Durbin showed up at his door, through to the information he'd received that morning. 

Art doesn't reply right away, but gets up and opens a drawer in the file cabinet, pulling out a bottle of Wild Turkey and two glasses. 

Raylan gives a low whistle and says, "Is that real?"

Art gives him a look as he pours them each a double, and says, "Don't even ask me who you got to blow to come by something like this, these days."

Raylan laughs, rubbing a finger over one eyebrow, and takes his glass. "Thank you kindly."

"Raylan, what are you looking for, here? I can see that you feel a great responsibility to these women, and to your county. But wasn't it you who said - two years ago now, very shortly before you walked out of here - that soon we'd have to leave Harlan to Harlan? We've got our hands full here, son."

Raylan makes a frustrated sound and says, "It ain't just Harlan, Art. I told you, the two girls we've been able to identify came from two other counties. This is not about me."

Art takes a sip of his drink and taps his fingers on his desk. "Have you spoken to the State Police yet?"

"No, I- listen, I ain't gonna lie. It's a tricky situation down in Harlan, for me. I need someone I can trust. I know it all seems very fucked up to you, I understand that, I do. But you need to know I am doing what I believe is best for the people down there. It's my home, and not just because its where I live."

Art scowls down at his desk for a bit, then gives Raylan an intense stare. Finally, he says, "Let me give it some thought. I'll consider what I might be able to do for you, and I'll be in touch."

"Thank you," Raylan says, very sincerely. He drains the last of his bourbon, sets down the glass and says, "I need to be heading back."

"You got someone waiting for you?" Art asks, his eyes shrewd.

"I do," Raylan says. "I promised I'd try to be back before too late. I also thought I might stop and see Winona before I roll out of town."

He and Art shake hands, and he does the same with Tim and Rachel on his way through the outer office. It was good seeing all of them, and Raylan realizes that he's missed them, but he's anxious to get out of the courthouse, and out of Lexington altogether. It doesn't feel right anymore.

He drives to where Winona was living the last time he saw her, not having any idea of she'd still be there. He knocks and steps back, half-hoping she's not home. Maybe Bryce will be there and he can just leave a message that he stopped by. He waits long enough that he's just turning around to go, when he hears the door open. 

He turns back around to see Winona standing in the doorway, a surprised look on her face. She looks tired, and older than when he'd last seen her two years prior, but the tightness around her eyes and mouth that had always seemed to be there in the months before he'd left. 

They both start to speak at once, then Raylan looks down, grinning, and says, "Go ahead."

"I thought I'd never see you again, Raylan." 

He nods, and says, "I had to come up for work, just for the day. I didn't want to leave without seeing... how you're doing."

"Well." She smiles at him and says, "You want to come in? Have some rose hip tea?"

"Sure. Just for a few minutes. I have to..."

"Get back to Harlan. I know," she says, holding the door wider for him. 

They go into the little living room, the first thing he sees is the bassinet. She sees where his eyes have gone, and she walks over to it, leans down and picks up a very young infant, swaddled in a soft blanket. 

Raylan stares at her, holding her baby, then walks forward, slowly. He peers down at the tiny face, then up at her. She's looking back at him. 

"I'm sorry, Raylan," she says. He thinks that's not right at all. It's him should be sorry, and he shakes his head.

"You got nothing to be sorry for, Winona. I should have been there for you. I should have-"

"Raylan, stop." She says this very softly, but he shuts up right away. "You didn't make the world go crazy. It wasn't your fault. I never blamed you."

He looks back down at the baby again, and asks, "What's his name?"

"Joseph," she replies.

"After your dad."

Winona nods, then says, "I'll go get that tea. Could you hold him for me?"

Raylan stares at her for a second, then holds out his arms to take him. She hands him over gently, and he pulls the little body against his chest. Winona smiles at him again and walks into the kitchen. 

Raylan walks to the window and stares out at her back yard. It's hard to imagine the future of raising a child in this city, in this world. He lowers his nose to the top of the baby's head and breathes in, and he can't keep the thought from his head, _this should have been my child_ , and he knows that's fucked up, because he'd hated the idea of trying to be a father, the way things are. 

The boy fusses a little, and Raylan sways back and forth, almost unconsciously, until he quiets. He keeps swaying, and doesn't even notice it until he hears Winona sniff. He looks up, and she's watching him from the doorway. He goes still, and as soon as she's put the teacups down, he hands the baby back to her.

She settles him back in the bassinet, pulling it close so she can rock it back and forth as she sips her tea. 

"You look good, Raylan," she says, glancing at him quickly, then back down.

"Thanks, Winona. You look real good too." 

She gives him a skeptical look, but he meant it. She looks happy, and comfortable, and better than he can remember since before the Event.

"So," she says, "how is it for you in Harlan? It must be okay, I guess, since you're still there. Have you met someone?"

"Well," he says, "In a manner of speaking. I'm with someone now. It's someone I've known a long time."

She frowns curiously and asks, "Someone you grew up with?"

Raylan nods, and feels a semi-uncontrolled laugh bubble up. "Yeah," he says. "You're gonna think it's crazy."

She gives him a wry smile and asks, "Is it Boyd Crowder?"

He gapes at her, completely at a loss, until she finally says, "Raylan, I guessed about you and him a long time ago. Plus, I saw Tim Gutterson about a year ago and he told me how Boyd showed up at the office and you just followed him out like a damn puppy."

He shakes his head and says, "There wasn't nothin' to guess back then. Why do people always think that? I hated Boyd when you and I were together. I didn't want to be with him. I was mad at him."

Winona rolls her eyes and says, "Yeah, Raylan. Well, I was mad at you for a long time. And you were mad at me. Didn't mean we didn't want to fuck each other's brains out. All anybody had to do was be paying attention when they looked at the two of you."

Raylan nods, not wanting to press her further, despite his curiosity. "Well, anyways. Me and Boyd are together about two years now. It's strangely... peaceful. We're... I... He's putting in a chicken coop," Raylan blurts, then rubs his forehead, knowing he sounds like a moron. 

Winona is smiling at him like she's not sure who he is, but she likes him anyway. "Chickens, huh?"

"Yeah... well, we'll see, I suppose." He's blushing and can't quite look at her.

"It's a little hard to picture that. But it sounds real nice. You obviously love him."

He nods, smiles faintly, and says, "It's crazy, right?"

She shrugs. "No crazier than anything else, honey. What was crazy was the two of you trying to hurt each other all the time instead of just screwing like you obviously wanted to be doing."

Raylan is not sure how to respond, because while she may be right, he'd had no idea about any of that at the time. He has a remarkable aptitude for self-deception, which he's fairly sure would come as no surprise to her. 

They sit for a minute or so, drinking the tea she'd brought, and then he says, "I need to get going before it gets too late."

"Okay," she replies, smiling a little sadly at him. "Thanks for coming by."

"I wanted to see you. I'm- I'm real glad you're doing so well. If you ever need anything, if- if I can help, you know where to find me. Please don't hesitate. I mean- you and the baby, and Bryce, if that's... You know what I'm saying," he almost pleads.

"Thank you," she says, nodding. Her voice cracks a little. She walks him to the door and embraces him, for a long time, before he leaves. 

Two hours later, he's pulling up into the cabin's dirt driveway. It's only a little after six, and still plenty light out.

Boyd is not in the house, and Raylan finds him in back of the little house, a couple of wire cages lined up beside him as he adjusts something on the chicken coop. Raylan walks up and peers into the cages, where small chickens are clucking and ruffling their feathers. One is mostly black, one white, and several are multi-colored. 

Boyd looks up from what he's doing and says, "Ain't they pretty?" He puts down the tool he was using and picks up one of the cages. He transfers them one by one - there are six of them - as Raylan watches. 

When he's finished, Raylan helps him bring the cages back to his truck to bring back to Nancy and Kathleen, then follows him into the back yard again to check the enclosure one more time. When he turns around, Raylan snags him by the waist and pulls him close. 

"Hey," Raylan says.

Boyd smiles at him with his eyes, and kisses him lightly on the mouth. "I got to get cleaned up, Raylan. I know I stink, and I got feathers all over me."

"You smell alright to me," Raylan says, low and breathy, running his hands down to Boyd's hips and making sure he's pressed real tight.

"Raylan, really, I been working all day on that goddamn shower, and-"

Raylan shuts him up with a kiss and moves his hands around to his fly, working it open. 

Boyd's mouth stretches into a smile against Raylan's, and he lets himself be dragged down into the grass and clover on the little slope that leads from the back of the cabin to the flat part of the yard. 

Raylan is kissing him so relentlessly that at one point, Boyd puts his hand to his face and pushes him back. "What has gotten into you?" he asks, laughing breathlessly. 

Raylan blinks at him, then grins back and says, "Maybe I really do want to eat you."

Boyd sort of growls and pushes him onto his back then, taking over and kissing him just like that. They hook legs together, roll around and rub up against each other until Raylan can hardly stand it anymore, and Boyd is starting to bite him, which Raylan really has never developed a taste for. 

They struggle out of their clothes and toss them aside, leaving themselves naked under the sun that's setting somewhere behind the cloud cover. It's getting dark, but there's still enough light to see by, so Raylan can see Boyd's face clearly as he pushes himself up on one arm and takes him in hand.

Boyd strokes him slowly, so slow, and kisses his chest, his stomach, his thighs, and then closes his mouth over Raylan's cock, hot and wet. It feels so good, and Raylan presses his head back into the ground and tells him so. 

Raylan tells him it's so good, and it's just right, and _oh my god_ , and then, _I love you_ , which makes Boyd pause for a second and reach for his hand. Then Raylan is just moaning, and trying to hold off, then suddenly it's too late and he's over the edge, coming with a shout that no one but Boyd and the chickens can hear. 

Boyd comes up wiping the side of his mouth with his hand, and kisses him, running his fingers lightly over Raylan's skin, which feels like it has extra nerve endings everywhere. 

He takes Raylan's hand and brings it to his face, and says, "I was thinking about the first time. I was so far gone into myself. I thought there was nothing left for me."

"Boyd, don't-"

"No, Raylan, it's alright. I want to tell you. I felt so bad, past even grief, and then you were there. You were afraid of what you felt, I know it, but you didn't leave because you knew I needed you there. You showed me that I could still feel something."

Raylan sinks his face into Boyd's hair and huffs a sad little laugh. "That ain't what was in my mind, Boyd. Nothing was except... what I needed, even though I never knew I needed it before. Never knew I wanted it."

Boyd pulls his hand down to his dick, and Raylan is almost surprised at how hard it is, how much Boyd wants him now. "I didn't know it meant that I could love you like this," Boyd says. "I could want you, that I knew, but I didn't know it could be this way."

It had come as at least as much a surprise to Raylan, so he gets it, but it's been two years now and he finds it hard to recall feeling that way. It was that feeling which led him back to Lexington, and allowed him to get stuck there again, until Boyd came to pull him away. 

"Maybe you feel grateful, Boyd," Raylan says, pulling up on him, nuzzling his face against Boyd's neck, "but no more so than me." He kisses him some more, softly now but with as much feeling as before. 

Boyd groans and sighs, and before long Raylan feels his whole body stiffen against him, hands grasping at him as he comes, his tongue plunging into Raylan's mouth like he's fucking him with it. 

They lay back naked on the lawn and get their breath back. They stay there for a long time, not bothering to get dressed in the heat, which has barely let up even though night has fallen. The crickets are loud, and they talk quietly, Raylan telling him about what happened in Lexington that day. 

"You think Art will help you?" Boyd asks.

"Yeah," Raylan replies. "I think he'll do something. He's still hurt that I left that way, and I'm sure he's pissed off that I'm... about what he perceives my role in Harlan to be. But he won't ignore three dead bodies and a missing girl."

They're quiet for awhile, then Boyd says, "So Winona has a baby. How do you feel about that?"

Raylan doesn't answer right away, and isn't really sure what the answer is. Finally, he replies, "At first I had the weirdest possessive thing happening. And I think... I never really let myself feel sad about her losing our baby. Not- not like I should have, or would have if things had been normal. But I saw that what she has now, I wouldn't have been any good at that. I would've let her down. She's happy now and I'm glad."

Boyd laces his fingers through Raylan's and says, "You don't know you wouldn't have come through. You would've done your best."

"My best kind of sucked, when it came to her. I don't even know why. I wasn't what she needed. Anyway, she's got someone now who is, and so do I. She seemed amused about that, by the way."

Boyd turns his face toward Raylan, and it's hard to see his expression in the dark, but his tone is surprised. "You told her about me?"

Raylan chuckles and says, "Well, I was about to, but she guessed before I got a chance."

"God," Boyd says, huffing a laugh, "How obvious were we? I have to say, I find that rather distressing."

"Remember that Black Pike woman, Carol Johnson?"

"The one who said our lives were like a love story? Yeah, I remember that high-flown bitch quite well, put on airs like she don't come from here herself."

"She used to wink at me every time she said your name."

Boyd laughs now, for real. "Oh my goodness, Raylan," he says, still laughing, "I wish I could have seen your reaction to that."

"I was remarkably restrained. Didn't even smack her one time."

When they finally get up, Raylan finds some food to eat, and Boyd rinses off in the shower. They get to bed fairly early, both exhausted, and Raylan sleeps heavily.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art comes to Harlan, and he and Raylan come to an agreement about how he can help. Boyd goes along on an interview with Raylan. 
> 
> More chicken stuff too.

In the morning, the sky is darker than ever, and Raylan thinks it might finally break soon. Boyd thinks so too, so he's up and out the door early, hoping to finish up his job before the rain comes. He asks Raylan to scatter some feed for the chickens, which Raylan assents to in a grumbling fashion.

The chickens are out of their coop and walking around the enclosure when he walks out with a large plastic cup filled with chicken feed. They peck at his feet through the wire as he walks up, and he throws some feed around for them. 

He watches one of the multi-colored ones, the smallest and prettiest of all of them, stand on the outside of the grouping and try to get her share. He puts a good-sized handful next to her, and tries to distract the other ones from it by scattering some more away from her. 

He drives straight to Pineville when he's finished, and meets with Mason, telling him about the missing Harlan woman, and letting him know that the Marshals may get involved. The man seems relieved, and they talk about what needs to happen in the meantime. 

Mason had already been to see the Sheriffs in the adjacent Virginia counties, and Raylan plans to drive up to Leslie county after he leaves. So far there are no leads as to the identity of the third victim. She could be from farther away, but Raylan is already worried about his gas supply. He wonders how this guy does so much driving.

Raylan decides to stop back in Harlan before driving north, maybe grab something to eat for the road. He has some food at the office, which is much closer to the highway than the cabin is, so he heads there. He pulls into the lot to find a car with Marshal plates, parked close to the door. Art is sitting in the driver's seat, apparently dozing off, when Raylan knocks on the window. 

Art startles, then pulls the keys from the ignition and opens the door. "Hello, Raylan," he says, "I decided to see what I could do to help."

Raylan nods and says, "I figured. Thanks, come on in. I was just in Pineville talking to the Sheriff there, he's helping me out on some things. One of the girls was from there."

He hands Art to case file, such as it is, and Art winces when he comes to the photos of the bodies. "Jesus H. Christ. You went and pulled these bodies out of a house?"

"Yeah, me and Boyd did," Raylan says, avoiding his eyes. He'll probably have to tell Art about their situation eventually, but he wants to wait as long as possible. "He rode up to help me. He puked; I almost did, myself."

"So Boyd Crowder's your deputy now?" Art is giving him that pissed off, worried look again. 

"Just helping me out," Raylan replies, too casually. "I wasn't sure I could manage it on my own, didn't know what I'd find. And anyway, he's the one took and developed these pictures."

Art just nods and looks through the rest of the material. "Let me take this up to Lexington. We can use the copier, since we're running on a genny four hours a day. I'll have Tim look at it, and send him down with someone else. They can go through the house again, help you with interviews, all that."

"Alright."

"It's not too practical to have 'em going back and forth every day. You got a place for two people to stay?"

"Well..." Raylan picks up his hat to scratch at his head. Boyd would probably not be thrilled to have people staying with them, but he wouldn't be half as uncomfortable with it as Raylan knows he would be, himself. "I got a spare bedroom," he says reluctantly, "and a couch."

"Great," Art says. "So, what's the plan for the rest of the day?"

"I was gonna drive up to Hyden, but it can wait a bit. You want to come back to my place and eat something? I ain't got any bourbon at the present time, but I got shine. Want to come have a taste of the hills?"

Art smiles and nods. He says, "That sounds alright. Let me see what's so damn attractive to you that you would give up life in the big exciting city."

An hour or so later, they've eaten some sandwiches and are having a drink. 

"How do you drink this shit, Raylan?" Art asks. 

Raylan shrugs. "You get used to it. Sort of."

Raylan is trying to figure out how to tell Art about who he's living with, but he can hear part of his brain trying to tell him he doesn't need to, that its not important, doesn't matter what Art knows. Of course, Tim and whoever else is coming to stay will have to know. But this is Art. 

All of this becomes irrelevant in the next few seconds.

"Raylan!" Boyd's voice rings out loud from the kitchen, and then the screen door slams shut. What you doin' home, boy? Must be my lucky day. You will not believe what Kathleen gave me. I swear, I didn't know better, I'd think those two old dykes were tryin' to get in my p-"

Boyd shuts up abruptly as he comes out of the kitchen, a whole peach pie in his hand -- and comes face to face with Art Mullen. 

"Hey, Boyd," Raylan says, a resigned smirk on his face. "Art's here."

"Well," Boyd says, visibly trying to regain his footing, "Chief Mullen. What an unexpected pleasure."

"Mr. Crowder. Am I to understand that you live here, then?"

Boyd looks at Raylan with raised eyebrows, then back at Art. "Sure," he says easily, "Me and Raylan are roommates. You want a piece of pie?"

"If that's peach, I won't say no," Art replies, and Boyd turns back into the kitchen. 

Raylan is rubbing at his forehead, and Art says with some amusement, "Did I get you in trouble, Raylan?"

"I was getting around to this."

"Roommates, huh?" Art has an annoying gleam in his eye. "Rent's a bitch around here, is it?"

"Alright, alright." Raylan lifts his eyes to the ceiling and sighs. "Now you know, so there ain't anything I need to say about it, is there?"

"I guess it don't make a lot of difference at this point, but I have to wonder how long-"

Raylan knows where he's going with this, and he's shaking his head almost as soon as Art starts talking. "Only since you sent me down here to look into that thing two years back or so."

Art gives him a look that tells him he won't be inquiring further into that, but that he definitely has his suspicions. 

He says, "So you're saying, when you shot him, that wasn't a lover's quarrel. And when he pushed you through a glass wall, that wasn't a spat." He pauses, and Raylan just looks at him, waiting for him to be finished. "And when people were talking about you bein' in his pocket, that was all bullshit. Right?"

"That's right."

Boyd comes back into the room with three pieces of pie and some forks. He hands Art his plate, then gives Raylan his with a lingering, cool gaze. 

Raylan clears his throat and says, "Boyd's been helping some friends of ours organize a sort of farming collective. There ain't a ton of easily farmable land in Harlan, and these ladies have more than they can work themselves without being able to use machinery much, so lots of people keep plots there, and there's a swap meet every week."

"Well, that sounds real community-minded," Art says, and Boyd sort of frowns. 

"I have always been so," he says to Art, "just maybe not in a way that makes sense to an outsider."

This is the last conversation Raylan wants to have happening in their fucking living room, and he casts his mind around for something, anything, to derail it. Meanwhile, he looks daggers at Boyd, who refuses to acknowledge him.

"This is delicious," Art says, "You people must be doin' okay down here, if you got time and resources to be baking pies."

"Well," Boyd says, smiling in a way that makes him look like he's lying, "It surely helps to have a competent police force, keepin' the peace, so's the rest of us can get on with the business of rebuilding."

"I'll bet it does," Art says, eyes narrowed. He eats the last of his pie and sets the plate down. "I should be heading back, I told my wife I'd be back no later than seven."

"I'll drive you back over to the station for your car," Raylan says, standing. 

They drive for a minute or two before Art says, "Raylan, I realize this ain't any of my business-"

"Apparently you don't," Raylan cuts in, "else you wouldn't be stepping in it."

"Son, I can't say I understand the fascination that Boyd Crowder has always seemed to hold for you, but-"

"Art. There ain't any fascination. There's nothing weird going on here. It's real simple. Me and Boyd go way back. We were close friends-"

"Which you lied about."

"Yes, which I lied about, for various reasons. Anyways, it seems it took some rather extreme circumstances, emotional trauma, what have you, to move things in a different direction, but now I'm with him. There's really nothing else to say about it. It's good for me here. It's a good thing."

Art makes a face like he thinks it doesn't make sense, couldn't possibly. "You and him."

"All of it."

"And you look the other way when necessary."

"I protect this town," Raylan says, not willing to get defensive about this. "That's why I contacted you, Art. I need your help on this."

Raylan heads back to the cabin after dropping Art off. He should start driving to Hyden now, but he feels a little weird about how he'd left things with Boyd. 

Boyd is out back with the chickens when he gets there, double-checking the roof of the coop. Raylan can hear thunder rumbling from several miles away, and hopes to hell it's on its way to them.

"Hey," Raylan says, walking out to him.

Boyd steps away from what he was doing, towards Raylan, frowning. "You done for the day or something?"

"No," Raylan says, "but I thought you might be pissed. Would've just called, but..."

"Ha ha. I ain't pissed, Raylan."

"I was going to tell him, I just hadn't gotten around to it," he replies, not sure why he feels compelled to explain further.

Boyd smirks and says, "Yeah, I know. It's hard to come out to your daddy."

"Shut up," Raylan says, kind of embarrassed now. "I thought I'd see if you wanted to ride up to Hyden with me. I could use the company."

Boyd grins big and says, "I surely would. Let's get moving before the rain starts. I'll drive."

It's almost an hour away, and the rain begins to come down in fat drops about ten minutes into the trip. Soon it's coming down hard and heavy, forcing Boyd to slow down. 

Boyd is asking about Art's visit. "What's he offering?"

"Ah. Well," Raylan starts, bracing himself for a negative reaction, "he wants to send down a couple of deputies to help look into things. Tim Gutterson and some guy I don't know."

"Sounds alright. So what's the bad news? You obviously have some to tell me."

"Yeah. They can't drive back and forth every day, so they're gonna have to stay in Harlan. I said," Raylan winces, "they could stay with us."

To his surprise, Boyd just laughs. "No outdoor sex for a few days, I guess."

"No, I suppose not." He sighs heavily. "It's gonna suck, ain't it?"

"It's only a few days, Raylan. It'll be way more uncomfortable for them, anyway. Could be sort of fun. I bet Gutterson is the blushing kind."

Raylan sighs and half-laughs. "I don't know why I always think you're gonna be pissed at me. You hardly ever are."

"Your mistake is that you keep thinking I'm just like you. I ain't."

"Oh, thank god," Raylan says, laying a hand on the back of his neck.

The Sheriff in Hyden claims not to have received any missing persons reports in the last month or two. He says, "Even if I had, I can't see paying them too much mind. People are moving along all the time these days. Nothing much to hold 'em anymore."

Raylan tells him to contact him if he hears of anything, either about a past disappearance or one in the future. 

The Sheriff frowns and says, "The girls you know about disappeared from Pineville and Whitesburg? And he dumped them in Harlan?" Raylan nods, and the man continues, "How the hell is he doing all that driving?"

"Yeah," Raylan says, "We've been trying to figure that out. Obviously it's someone with enough currency or power to get the gasoline. Or someone... Jesus, someone who gets a gas allowance?"

"Like a cop?" the Sheriff says grimly.

"I hope not. Or maybe a... some kind of government employee. An aid worker? Anyone like that come around here regular?"

"Not regular, no," he replies. "And not for at least six months, that I know of."

They get nothing of any value from the excursion, and Raylan is frustrated by the waste of gas and time. 

There's a cafe of sorts on the way back, a farmhouse that serves up what they grow and trade for. They also rent rooms to travellers, and it reminds Raylan vaguely of old books, as if they might run into a hobbit or something. 

They stop there for dinner, and both order fried chicken. It's served with a side of cole slaw, which Raylan realizes he's missed almost as much as the chicken. The place takes cash, but is happier to accept the food allowance vouchers Raylan offers. 

They return after dark, and the air smells fresher than it has in a long time, scrubbed clean by the rain. The temperature seems to have dropped at least ten degrees, and the oppressive humidity is gone. 

The feeling of dread that's been hanging over Raylan since they found the girls has also let up a bit, probably partly due to the weather, but mostly the fact that Tim is coming to help with this. He'd always been the type to do things on his own whenever possible, but it was always with the knowledge that he had backup if he needed it. He needs it now, without a doubt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marshals come to help, and make a discovery.

In preparation for their guests, Boyd says he's going to find an extra bed for the second bedroom, so they don't have to deal with someone on their couch for days. 

"You put me up on the couch," Raylan says. 

"Yeah, and look what happened," Boyd returns, winking.

Raylan sort of laughs, but he thinks Boyd has a point. The only reason he went into Boyd's room that night was because he'd heard him cry out from his nightmare. He doesn't want Tim or this other dude hearing anything of a personal nature.

When Raylan gets to the office, he finds Cary Emerson there, waiting outside the building for him. 

"Hey, doc," Raylan says as he unlocks the door. "What's going on?"

Emerson follows him into the office. "I went over the bodies again, last night. I've gone over everything so many times, and I feel like there must be something I've missed, but there's just nothing. Before, of course, there would have been the DNA. He left so much of it in them. But now? No chance."

"Yeah, I get it," Raylan says, "I know the feeling. It's goddamn excruciating, is what it is. Is there something specific you wanted to talk to me about?"

Emerson sighs. "I would like your permission to go ahead and release the remains, or to have them cremated. I believe we've learned everything that's possible to learn from them. 

Raylan closes his eyes briefly, then opens them and says, "Alright. Kaylee's mom is okay with the cremation. I don't know about Sarah's family... I don't really want to ask them anyway, I'd rather leave it up to her boyfriend."

"Why's that?"

Raylan shrugs and replies, "Because they're racist assholes.

"And I know how much you hate racists," Emerson says, barely suppressing a grin.

Raylan rolls his eyes and says, "Boyd is not a racist. He's just an opportunistic asshole."

"Is that why you shot him?"

"Jesus, Emerson," Raylan says. No one asks them about that shit, because most people already know the story. Emerson hadn't been back in Harlan yet when all that went down, and hadn't known anything about it until Boyd injured his shoulder the year before, helping Nancy on some repairs to their barn. 

Boyd later told Raylan that the doctor's face had gone completely blank at the sight of the large, dark swastika on his arm. Boyd had considered apologizing for it, but he couldn't really think what to say. 

Finally, all he ended up saying was, "None of that shit has anything to do with me no more, alright? You believe that?"

Emerson nodded, then looked at his chest and asked, "When did you get shot?

Boyd told him, "Oh, that was years ago now. Raylan shot me right after he came back to Kentucky. Put me down right in Ava's living room. 'Course I wasn't living there then, she was still with Raylan."

Emerson had just stared at him with wide eyes, then bandaged his shoulder and told him to take it easy.

Now, he says, "He said you were with Ava then?"

Raylan sighs heavily. "Will you work better if I satisfy your curiosity?"

Emerson smiles and nods.

"I was with Ava, yeah, but that don't have shit to do with why I shot him. I shot Boyd because he tried to pull on me," Raylan says. "He was a criminal, I was a lawman, and I did exactly what I was trained to do. You know what, though? He's the only person I ever shot to kill who didn't die."

Emerson looks like he's trying to come up with a response to that, and having trouble for obvious reasons, when the door opens. Tim Gutterson walks through, followed by a very young and nervous-looking man. 

Raylan stands and walks around the desk, reaching out to shake Tim's hand. Tim says, "This is Craig Daniels, he's been with us a little over a year now."

Raylan shakes his hand, then introduces both of them to Emerson. The doctor says, "I guess I'll get going. I was only going to pry into your personal business some more, but I can do that any time. You'll let me know what you decide about Sarah?"

"Yeah. And I think we can go ahead and cremate the third victim."

The doctor nods to all of them and leaves. Raylan looks at Tim and says, "What do you want to do first? You want to see the place we found the bodies?"

"Okay," Tim says. "So you haven't found the heads yet?"

Raylan sighs heavily. "No. Although, I'll tell you, I ain't sure it's gonna help us solve anything. My place is on the way, sort of. You want to stop and drop your bags off?" They head out to the Marshals' vehicle and get in.

"Yeah," Tim says. "You sure you got room for us?"

"'Course. You'll have to share a room, but Boyd said he's picking up a second bed to put in there today."

Tim is silent for a few moments, then says in a quietly incredulous voice, "Boyd? You live with him?"

"Uh... Art didn't tell you that?"

"Art didn't tell us shit," Tim says.

Raylan snorts and says, "Of course he didn't."

"Who is Boyd?" That's from Deputy Daniels, the first thing he's said since "hello."

Raylan starts to put together some kind of answer, but Tim cuts in with, "Boyd Crowder is a hillbilly crime lord who Raylan grew up with and mined coal with, later became obsessed with arresting, ended up shooting, and once destroyed a glass wall in our office with during a fistfight. Those are the bare bones of it, I'm sure Raylan could fill in some of the gaps if he wanted to."

Raylan just gives a half-laugh, but Daniels sounds indignant as he says, "What the heck is a Sheriff doing sharing a house with a criminal?"

Unsure how to answer that, Raylan just says, "Things don't always work out the way you'd think."

Tim says carefully, "There's really only one way this makes any kind of sense. I gotta hope it's what I think it is, otherwise I'm gonna be really fucking confused."

"He ain't really involved in the business anymore," Raylan says, "so there's not too much of a conflict. And yeah, of course it's what you think it is. Apparently everyone could always tell, so I just pretty much go on that assumption now."

"I'm sorry, what are you saying?" Daniels pipes up from the back seat. 

Raylan raises his eyebrows at Tim, wondering what use this kid is going to be on the investigation if he couldn't even follow that exchange.

Raylan glances back briefly, then says, "Boyd's my... huh. What do I call him? I don't have to do this very often. Boyfriend sounds stupid, like we're in high school. Whatever, you get the idea."

Silence falls in the car, and finally Tim says, "Art's probably cracking up right now, imagining all sorts of awkwardness."

"Probably," Raylan says, scowling. "Perhaps we shouldn't gve him the satisfaction."

"I really couldn't care less, Raylan," Tim says, looking at him so he can see that he's telling the truth. "I don't even think he's a weird choice for you, it's really kind of perfect. A perfectly, almost poetically, fucked up happy ending."

Daniels doesn't speak for the rest of the short drive, but Raylan tells them about how things are in Harlan, how people are getting along, about the weekly swap meets, and the chickens. Tim laughs at that, pretty hard, which Raylan can't possibly fault him for. 

Boyd's truck is in the yard, with a mattress and box spring sitting in it. When they get inside, he can hear the sound of metal clanging and scraping against itself, and he goes to the second bedroom, the one that had originally been his, though not for long.

Boyd is on the floor, screwing a metal single bed frame together. He looks up and grins. "Hey," he says, "can you hold this while I screw it in." His expression is so ridiculous that Raylan has to laugh. 

"That's what she said," Raylan replies.

"Ha," Boyd says, "Not for quite some time, though."

He braces the two ends of the frame together, and then helps with the ones on the other side. When it's put together, Raylan says quietly, "Tim and the other deputy, Daniels, are here. Art decided to be a dick and not give them a heads up about you. Tim is fine, but I ain't sure what this other boy's deal is."

"Well," Boyd says, "Guess we'll find out."

Tim goes out to the truck with Raylan and grabs the mattress, while Raylan takes the box spring. There's a large black garbage bag in the bedroom, next to the door, and Raylan opens it up to find a couple pillows, some sheets and a blanket. He tosses them to Tim, who starts making the bed.

"That was thoughtful of Crowder," he says.

"Yeah," Raylan replies, "he's a gracious fuckin' host, alright. And you could probably call him Boyd while you're staying in his house."

"Force of habit. I'll try to remember to be nice. You gotta remember though, Raylan, you've had two years to get used to the new Boyd Crowder. To me, he's still the same asshole who got away with murder by pinning it on your elderly fucking father."

"He ain't new. He's the same. He just never was what you thought he was, not entirely. And the rest of it, that was me did the changing. I stopped giving a shit."

Tim makes a face and asks, "Because the world got so fucked up? Or because you fell in love with him?"

Raylan shrugs and says, "Maybe I stopped giving a shit about the things I didn't think mattered, because the world ended, and that's why I was able to fall in love with him. Or maybe, I fell in love with him because the world ended, and that made me stop giving a shit. What difference does it make?"

"Or maybe you were already in love with him, and took the first opportunity to let it out."

"No, that ain't it. Whatever that was, it wasn't love. You don't shoot a person you love." Raylan winks, and adds, "Only white trash assholes think that's something you do."

Tim smirks. "To be fair, I'm not sure that type of behavior can really be broken down along racial or economic lines. Assholes of all colors and situations think violence is part of loving someone."

"Come on," Raylan says, "God knows what he's saying to the new kid."

They walk out to the living room where Boyd and Deputy Daniels seem to be engaged in a stare-down of some kind. Raylan thinks its kind of adorable that this rosy cheeked boy thinks he can win a battle of wills with Boyd Crowder, but he doesn't say so. He just asks if he and Tim are ready to go see the McCoury farm. 

Daniels says yes right away and stands up. Tim shrugs and says, "Sure," then turns to Boyd, hand extended. "Thanks for picking up that extra bed, and making room for us."

Boyd shakes his hand and says, "Of course, Deputy Gutterson. I appreciate the Marshal service taking the time to help us out down here. I'm sure you have your hands full in Lexington."

"We can't ignore a serial killer," Tim replies, "and it's Tim. Please."

"Alright," Boyd says. "Should I come with you up to Gray's Knob? I was up there with Raylan on Sunday."

Raylan says, "You know what? Maybe you could go talk to some of Johnny's girls. See if any of them knew who Melinda was seeing, or anything about him."

Daniels makes a sudden, incredulous sound, almost a laugh, and says, “Are you serious?”

Raylan shoots Tim a glance, then looks at the younger deputy. “We do things a little differently down here. Boyd knows most of these girls, and they trust him because of who’s kin he is. Now, that’s just a practical reality.”

“Come on,” Tim says, “let’s go see that house.”

Daniels is clearly fuming, albeit silently, the entire ride to the McCoury farm. Tim glances back at him a few times, and gives Raylan one semi-apologetic bug eyes look. When they arrive, Tim tells Daniels to start searching the perimeter, about half a mile out. Raylan had put in the report that so far they’d only searched the yard and the interior of the house, though the property was a decent size. 

After the deputy walks away, Raylan says, “What the fuck. I mean, shit, I get that it ain’t exactly regulations, but we’re a little past that in Harlan. He’s got to understand, I need to do what gets the best result. Is he gonna throw a hissy every time something’s a little off the books?”

Tim runs a hand into his hair and casts his eyes up and to the side for a moment, then finally sighs and says, "He's, uh... a Christian."

"So? So are most people around here."

"No, I meant..." Tim trails off uncomfortably, and Raylan finally rolls his eyes and lets him off the hook.

"I know what you meant. That's fucking great. This is Art's revenge on me, ain't it."

It's not a question, and Tim doesn't treat it as such. He just says, "Let's go in."

The place still reeks, though obviously not nearly to the horrifying degree it did on Sunday morning. Raylan walks Tim over to the spot where the bodies had been, and goes over everything they've been able to learn about the case as they look around. 

They search thoroughly, for over an hour, but it seems that this place had truly been only a place to dump the bodies. There's no sign of anything recent in the rest of the house. 

Just as they're finishing up, Daniels opens the front door and shouts for Tim. They both come down the stairs and Daniels says, "I found something. You need to see this."

Raylan stops at the car to pull out the camera. He wonders briefly if Daniels is going to give him grief about having Boyd develop the photos, too. He sighs, jogs to catch up with Tim. Fucking Art.

At least a quarter of a mile out in the woods behind the house, maybe further, is the crumbling, black smoke stained cinder block foundation of a small structure. It's much too small to have been a house, so perhaps a workshop of some kind. In the bottom of the foundation, there's a large fire pit containing the charred remains of three human skulls. There are a few scraps of fabric remaining around the edges. 

"Okay," Raylan says, after taking several pictures of the scene. "At least now we know that much. Let's bag these and... we should look around for their jewelry. They were all wearing something. Earrings, a necklace, a belly button ring." He's speaking in a flat tone, and honestly doesn't feel overly emotional about the discovery. He'd already known these women were dead. 

Tim sniffs at the fire and says, "He used an accelerant on this fire, probably trying to get the bone to burn. Smells like gasoline."

"Jesus," Raylan says, "this guy must be a fuckin' Saudi prince, the way he uses gas."

They get everything packed up, the heads in body bags and the fabric collected. They find no jewelry on the premises. 

They get in the car, and Raylan sits in the back and closes his eyes for a minute as they drive south. He leaves them at the office with the bag of remnants from the fire to be sorted through, then drives with the heads over to Emerson's house.

Matthew opens the door and gives Raylan a big smile. Because of what Boyd said, Raylan now feels self-conscious about not appearing to stare at him, even though it had nothing to do with a crush or anything of the sort. 

"Hey, Matthew. The doc in? There's been a development."

Matthew's face falls and he says, "Not that girl from Johnny's..."

"No, no," Raylan assures him quickly. "But I'm gonna need him to take a look at this anyway."

Emerson appears behind Matthew at that moment and raises his eyebrows at Raylan. "What's up, Sheriff?"

"The heads," Raylan says. 

Emerson nods quickly, then goes back in to get his bag, an old-fashioned black leather one like doctors carried on old television shows. Raylan had asked him about it once, and he'd just said it was what he always imagined himself carrying when he became a doctor, but he never did before because it seemed too affected. It's different now because he makes house calls sometimes, he said. 

He says goodbye to Matthew, brushing him on the arm, and heads out to Raylan's car. 

"Listen," Raylan says, when they're in the car, "I ain't expecting anything, really. I don't think the forensics are gonna solve this for us, so don't feel like you're gonna disappoint me here. I just don't know what the hell else to do. Whatever you can tell me, I'll be grateful."

"Jesus, Raylan. You sound hopeless."

Raylan looks at him in surprise. "You never call me Raylan."

Emerson shrugs and replies, "Well, I like calling you Sheriff, and I like you calling me Doc. It makes me feel like we're living in Tombstone, or something. But, you know, I consider you a friend. And I was speaking as a friend that time, so I thought first names were better. I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, man. That's okay." He's quiet for a few moments, then says, "Tombstone, huh? You like Westerns?"

Emerson grins. "Used to. I had a thing for Robert Wagner in _The True Story of Jesse James_."

"I was more of a Clint Eastwood fan, myself. But I suppose I can see the appeal."

Emerson chuckles and says, "I would imagine you can." Raylan shoots him a sardonic glance.

"I do feel a little hopeless about this," Raylan says. "I don't know how to do this kind of investigative work without computers and phones and shit. Everything takes ten times as long, and it's so ineffective."

He pulls up in front of the funeral home and they get out. They bring the heads inside, and Emerson tells him he'll come by the station the next day with whatever he's been able to learn. 

Raylan drives back over to the office to see if they've come up with anything, and hears them shouting at each other as he walks in the door. He manages to catch just enough of the fight to discern that it's about him, and that the words "disgusting" and "immoral" were used. 

It's a strange experience for Raylan, being the subject of that kind of talk. He has no experience with it, didn't grow up associating that sort of thing with himself, and never paid much mind to it with regards to other people. He's unused to be attached to a sexual minority - or a minority of any kind, come to think of it - and is not quite sure what to make of it. 

He doesn't spend much time thinking about it at that moment, though he does want to talk to Boyd about it later, as he's in more or less the same shoes and may or may not have some thoughts on the matter. For now, he's just pissed off at this little shit, and he's not about to let the insult stand. 

He walks through to the inner office, where they have the charred remnants of the fire spread out on a tarp. When Tim sees him, he gives him a look of apology mixed with anger and frustration. Raylan nods at him, trying to indicate that he doesn't blame Tim, then looks at the younger deputy and says, "I'd like to speak to you privately, Deputy."

"Uh... Sure." Daniels gets up and follows Raylan out the front door.

"I would appreciate it," Raylan says, "if you have issues with me, that you take them up with me directly. I don't want Tim or anyone else to feel they need to fight my battles, understand?"

"Yes. I do. I apologize."

"Fine. So let's hear it, kid. What do you want to say about me? I heard disgusting and immoral. Anything else?"

"I'm sorry that you heard that," Daniels says, his ears burning red.

"Why?" Raylan asks. "You must believe it. If you were willing to say it to Tim, you should be able to say it to my face. You think it's, what, a sin for me and Boyd to be together? Or is it just that you think it's fuckin' gross?"

"I'm sorry I've offended you, but I was brought up to believe in the Bible."

Raylan laughs. "Sure, okay, me too. My mother especially liked the part about turning the other cheek, she lived her life by that, so I'm gonna go ahead and follow her example and not kick your ass for being a dick. But, you are a guest in my goddamn house. You want to bunk here in the station, you're welcome to it, but if you're staying in my home, which is also Boyd's home, you best hold your tongue from now on."

Daniels has his eyes cast down, clearly mortified. "I apologize," he says again, and Raylan huffs.

"Kid," he says, "I'm gonna try to give you the benefit of the doubt, here. I don't know what sort of place you come from, but maybe it's a little place like this one, without a whole lot of different kinds of people. I know how that is. That's probably why me and Boyd never tried anything back when we were coming up, 'cause we were taught it was wrong and gross and all that bullshit. Anyway, I won't go into detail or nothing - don't fear - but me and Boyd, we saved each other after all this shit went down. And I love him. So, all of that ugly shit you were saying about me? I wouldn't care all that much. But you're also saying it about him, and I can't let that stand. He's the closest thing I got to kin, and son, this is Harlan County, and that means something here."

Still not looking Raylan in the eye, Daniels nods and says, "Yep. Okay, I got it."

They go back into the station, but it's clear that the light is fading quickly. They decide to leave it for the night, and they drive back to the cabin to find Boyd already there, stirring a pot of soup on the little cook stove. 

Raylan walks up to him and gives him a kiss, from which Boyd pulls back with a quirk of his brow, but no other indication that he's surprised. Raylan loves that about him, how he always knows how to follow a lead. 

Boyd asks if they found anything, and Tim tells him about the heads, and the fire. Boyd is quiet for a moment, thinking, then he says, "Why burn the heads and not the bodies?"

Tim says, "Well, the bodies would have required a much larger fire. Might have attracted attention."

Boyd nods, but asks, "Why burn them at all? Why cut them off in the first place?"

Raylan says, "To delay or avoid an ID?"

Boyd shakes his head and replies, "I don't see it. If he was so concerned with being caught, he'd have buried them, or at least hidden them better. You know how much woods there are around here? Or he could've dumped them in an old mine shaft, or some other remote location. But he dumps them in a house, then burns the heads on the same property and leaves them out in the open. This guy's thinking is fucked up. He's got some kind of personal reason for doing it this way, not something practical."

"You shoulda been a profiler, Boyd," Tim says, smirking a little. "Could've worked for the FBI."

"Perish the thought, Timothy. If I'd wanted to break my daddy's heart, I can think of better ways than to follow Raylan's footsteps into the federal government."

Raylan smiles down at his food, thinking that they'd certainly found a sure-fire way, if only Bo Crowder was alive to see it.

Daniels doesn't talk at all during the meal, and immediately after finishing his food, he says he's going to turn in early with a book. 

They all say good night, and when he's gone, Boyd asks, "What's his problem?"

"Tell you later," Raylan says.

Tim says, "I brought a book too, I think I'll sit in the yard and waste some batteries using my flashlight to read. It's nice out, after the storm." He goes into the bedroom for a minute and returns with a paperback, then pauses before heading outside. "Hey Raylan, I'm sorry about that shit. I'm sure if Art thought he'd be like that, he wouldn't have sent him."

Raylan nods. "I ain't gonna cry over it, Tim."

Tim laughs and says, "Yeah. Well anyway."

When the door closes behind Tim, Boyd says, "Tell me now?"

"Yeah," Raylan says. He gets up and they go into the living room. They settle on the sofa and Raylan looks at him with a rueful grin. "It ain't a big deal, what happened today. I know this will shock you, but Daniels ain't a big fan of our relationship. Or any other of a similar construction."

Boyd snorts and says, "He don't like queers."

Raylan doesn't quite hold back a wince at that, and he says, "Is that how you think of it?"

Boyd shrugs. "I don't think of it at all, usually. Does it bother you?"

"What he thinks? Fuck, no."

"No, I mean," Boyd pauses and speaks carefully, "Does it bother you to think of yourself like that?"

"I don't know that it bothers me, only that I ain't used to it. I hadn't... I won't say I _never_ felt any attraction to a guy other than you, but before you and me got together, I just didn't give it any consideration. It wasn't strong enough to bother with."

"What about now? If we split up, or I died?" Boyd is looking at him curiously.

It's Raylan's turn to shrug. "I couldn't say. What about you?"

"The same, I guess. Once you know something is possible, it's hard to go back to thinking it ain't."

Raylan nods. "You miss women?"

"In the same way I missed them when I was with Ava, more or less. But I never was a big whore the way you were, Raylan," Boyd says, giving him a lopsided grin.

"I wasn't when I was married," he replies, serious now. "I ain't looking around, if you're worried about that."

"You can look all you like, baby," Boyd says, winking. "If you want to fuck someone, though, I'd expect you to share."

"Of course. Resources bein' limited as they are."

Boyd leans over and kisses him. "You want to turn in?"

Raylan pulls him in close and says, "You feelin' sleepy already?"

"Very," Boyd replies, settling into him. "I might just... fall asleep right here if you don't get me to bed quick."

Raylan grins as Boyd closes his eyes and presses their mouths together again. "Let's go, then."

In the bedroom, Boyd pushes him up against the door and kisses him forcefully, shoving his body against Raylan's. "Seems I've gotten a second wind."

Raylan hears the front door open and close, hears Tim moving around in the living room. Boyd groans loudly as Raylan pulls away and tugs him toward the bed.

"Be quiet! They'll hear."

"So? Let them hear, Raylan, I ain't ashamed of how much I want you." He's pushing up Raylan's shirt, trailing fingers across his skin. 

Raylan's breathing picks up at that, for some reason more affected by the sentiment than he would have thought, but still. "I have to work with them, baby," he says softly, reasonably, he thinks, "Just... let's be quiet. Quiet as we can be. We can hold it all in and it'll make it... _oh- oh fuck..._

Boyd is on his knees, opening Raylan's fly, kissing his abdomen and pressing the heel of his hand into his crotch. As soon as his cock is free, Boyd is all over it, licking, rubbing his mouth against it, kissing the tip. 

Raylan's hands slide into Boyd's hair and grab onto his skull as he pushes forward into his mouth. Boyd lets him thrust in a few times, press against his throat, then pulls back and stands up. 

"Still want to be quiet, Raylan?"

"Yes," he whispers. "Shh." He pushes Boyd onto the bed and down on his back. He holds him down and climbs on top of him, holding his gaze. "You want me?" he asks.

Boyd just nods, a small smile playing on his face. 

"Then we gotta be quiet. You want me to fuck you?"

"Oh, _yes_ , Raylan," he growls, low and rough. "Yes, I do."

They shed the rest of their clothing quickly, then take their time, kissing and touching each other. Raylan is sure they spend a lot more time on sex than he ever did with anyone else, back when there was television to watch, laptops and phones, even strong lamps to read by. You can read by oil lamp, but it hurts your eyes after awhile.

These days, there's no particular reason to wrap it up in a timely manner, so they stretch it, take the time to make each other crazy, sometimes beg for it. 

"I bet they can hear the bed creakin', Raylan," Boyd whispers in a teasing voice. 

"Maybe," Raylan pants, sliding a second finger into Boyd's ass, prompting a quiet grunt. "We'll just tell them we were wrestling. God-boy should approve of that, such a _wholesome,_ " Raylan inserts a third finger and stretches him, " _masculine_ , completely heterosexual activity."

"Raylan," Boyd says, breathing hard and stroking himself while Raylan kisses his neck, "I'll wrestle all you like once you get your cock in my ass."

"Hush," Raylan says, "you're talking too loud, and I'll start fucking you when I'm good and ready, not before."

Boyd grins and lets out a low moan, so Raylan puts their mouths together and kisses him until he's ready, more than ready. 

When he pulls up, Boyd's eyes are closed tight. They open when Raylan pushes his legs back and enters him, very carefully. He's being much more careful than either of them has been accustomed to, since the first few times. 

He goes slow, and it's obvious that Boyd is frustrated by it. He's touching himself, and Raylan strokes his forearm as he does it, moving slowly, keeping his eyes on Boyd's mouth. He wants to be ready in case he starts to cry out or groan or something. 

"I like it when you talk, Raylan," Boyd whispers.

"Then you should shut up once in awhile," Raylan whispers back, reflexively. "Talk about what?" he asks quietly, as an afterthought.

"Tell me," he says, then pauses as he hisses in a breath, "about when we were young. How you never knew you wanted me."

"Why?"

"Because I don't believe you," he says softly, and Raylan just stares at him. "Or I'll tell you, if you want."

Raylan's eyes drift shut, and he says, "Okay, tell me." He thinks maybe Boyd could know something he doesn't. It wouldn't be the first time.

"We were down at the creek, at that wide place where someone tied a rope on the tree above it, and people would swing across. You and me, and some people from school. I think it was the summer before senior year. I know there was a girl there I liked, but I can't really remember who it was now."

"Probably Denise," Raylan says, trying to remember the day. He can't.

"Probably," Boyd agrees, "Anyway, you and me got in a fight. About... something about some weed I bought, or we went in on together, which I might have finished it off when I was supposed to be holding some for you, maybe. Don't matter. But it got serious, probably 'cause I wouldn't admit any fault, you know how I could be."

"Uh huh..." Raylan grins, and something is pricking at his memory, but nothing is clear. He picks up the pace of his thrusting now, picturing a sunny day, light on the water, Boyd stripped to his jeans and very young. 

"We fought, like a fist fight, and everyone was egging us on and shouting, and you tackled me, pinned me, and you had your fist pulled back like you were gonna hit me".

Raylan playfully pulls his fist back and smiles down at him. "Like that?" he asks quietly. This is definitely sounding familiar now, though. 

Boyd half-laughs, but it turns into a groan. "Just like that," he says. "You were looking at me, real fierce, eyes flashing, pissed. Then suddenly you looked scared, almost, and you got off me, acted like you were disgusted with the whole thing. Told me to forget it."

 _Shit._ Raylan goes still for a moment. "That... that really happened?"

Boyd hitches up his hips and says, "Don't stop now, baby, come on." Raylan squeezes his leg, as if to apologize, then starts again. "What do you mean, 'really happened'?"

"I thought... It's a dream I used to have. Once in awhile. Sometimes a lot. But, I don't remember anyone else being there, just you and me."

Boyd gazes at him mildly, tilts his head a little to the side, then gives him the smallest of smiles.

"Fuck," Raylan says, then stops talking altogether, just moves in Boyd and thinks about now, not then. Now is what matters, everything else is gone. 

"Did you want to kiss me?" Boyd whispers. "Or fuck me? Did you start to get hard? Is that what scared you?"

Probably all those things, but he doesn't know now, still can't really remember, and it doesn't matter. He bends down and puts his face close to Boyd and says, "Ssh. I love you." He kisses him, and stays close as they move together. 

He feels Boyd's body tense up, he knows him well enough by now to tell that he's close. Boyd reaches up for Raylan's face with both hands and kisses him. Raylan puts his hand on Boyd so he can feel him coming, trying to time it just right. He lets go just as he feels Boyd get there, and Boyd lets out a sound that no one could possibly mistake for anything else. 

"Sorry," Boyd says, as they lay panting beside each other. "That wasn't on purpose."

"I know," Raylan sighs. "I don't know why I should care anyway. It's our goddamn house."

"That's right," Boyd replies, turning in towards Raylan, pulling up the sheet and sliding close, draping an arm over his chest. "Our house."

"You think it matters what happened back then, or didn't happen, what we knew or didn't. You're wrong. It don't mean shit."

Boyd huffs loudly and says, "Why, because you say so? You think it don't matter because you shut it all out. But I didn't, I remember how it felt. I like thinking about it."

"Boyd," Raylan starts, exasperated. He doesn't want a fight now. "That ain't what I'm saying. I don't care what you think about, and you can talk about it all you want too. I'm glad you told me that, because I didn't remember. I just... don't think it's all that important. Not compared to- to this. And I don't think it's fair for you to give me shit about what I can't remember, or to get pissed or hurt about it. I love you _now_. Before, I just liked you. You were just my friend. And maybe I wanted to fuck you, or _something_ , I'm quite sure the particulars never entered my mind, but so what? That ain't this. That wasn't anything to do with living together and sleeping together and goddamn chicken coops in our back yard, Jesus Chr-"

Boyd's hand clamps down on his mouth, cutting off the stream of words, which were ramping up in vehemence and volume every second. "Alright, Raylan. I get it. You're right. Now, can you keep it down? Because I didn't particularly care about them hearing us fuck, but I do not want them to listen to us argue."

Raylan nods, and Boyd lifts his hand. "Do you really think I'm right or did you just say that to shut me up?" Raylan asks.

Boyd smiles and says, "You were very convincing," and kisses him. "Plus, you admitted you like the chickens. I knew you would."

That wasn't what he'd said at all, but Raylan doesn't bother to correct him. He's exhausted, and just wants to slide into sleep. "Put the light out, Boyd," he mumbles, and then it's dark, and he falls asleep easily.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culprit is discovered.

In the morning, Raylan is up first, and he goes out to feed the chickens. He's not sure Boyd is as careful as he is to make sure that little one gets enough feed. She's so timid. Most of the hens are kind of ruthless bitches, not that he thinks that's a bad way to be. 

He walks back up to the house to find Boyd standing at the back door, watching him with an insufferable smirk. Raylan pushes past him, muttering, "Shut up."

Tim is sitting at the kitchen table, eating a slice of bread with jam, and watching with amused interest.

Boyd says, "If you don't spoil her, she'll learn to do what she has to do to get food, you know."

Raylan ignores him and slices off some bread for himself, puts jam on it and sits down.

"You think I don't know why you like her best, Raylan? You are possibly the most predictable person I have ever met. She's beautiful, and she's helpless. That chicken is just your type."

"You think so, huh?" Raylan takes a bite of his bread and chews slowly.

"Tim?" Boyd says, "You've known Raylan awhile. You gonna back me up?"

"Well, I would," Tim says, "but how do I account for you? You're not helpless, are you?" Raylan mentally thanks him for the set up.

"And you ain't no beauty either," Raylan says, laughing as he defends against a damp rag that comes flying at him from where Boyd is standing at the counter. 

Daniels clears his throat from the doorway, and walks in. Boyd sighs and says, "Good morning, deputy. There's bread and jam. I'm afraid we don't have much else right now, 'til the chickens start laying."

Daniels nods and says, "Thanks," then walks over to get his food. He looks at Tim and asks, "What's the plan for today?"

Tim gives him a look that pretty clearly indicates a weary lack of patience and says, "I don't know yet. Maybe since this is Raylan's investigation, we should see what he has in mind."

Raylan's mouth quirks up real quick, but he keeps a serious tone as he says, "I ain't the possessive type. You got any ideas, son, feel free to advance them. You're the Deputy U.S. Marshal, I'm just some hillbilly Sheriff."

The man's mouth tightens and he says, "Okay, I get it. So, what do _you_ think we should be doing today, Sheriff Givens?"

"Oh please, call me Sheriff Raylan," he replies, a gleam of laughter in his eyes. Boyd snorts, and Tim just fixes him with a look. "Look, maybe the two of you could go up to Hazard. It's pretty fucked up there, and I feel like a place like that would be easy for this guy to hide in. You know, thinking about it, the bikers up around there seem to have plenty of access to gas. I'm guessing they tax everyone's gas rations in the area."

Tim nods. "What are you gonna do?

"I want to talk to Emerson about the heads, not that I have a great deal of hope there. Then I'll go talk to Mason, see if anything shook out on his end yet."

"I still got two girls to talk to, weren't around yesterday," Boyd says. "And I had an idea to ask Johnny if she had anyone especially regular. Not that they'd necessarily be suspect, but I was thinking, some women won't tell other women a damn thing, but spill the beans right away for a man who buys her something. Could be someone knows something."

Tim and Daniels leave, but Boyd and Raylan hang back. They sit for a bit in the back yard, not talking much. Normally, Boyd would be telling him about some new project or another, his mind already on the next thing and the next thing after that. They're both subdued now, and Raylan assumes for the same reason. Raylan can't think of much else besides catching this asshole.

After a bit, Boyd gets up and says he's going to head over to the trailers and see who's around. Raylan knows there's a lot to do, but he can feel the inertia of his frustration dragging him down. He wanders down to the chicken coop and watches them peck around. It's calming, reassuring, and finally he feels ready to get started with the tasks of the day. 

He's just turning to go, when the sunlight glints off something and catches his eye. He glances at it, not really thinking, and sees something shiny embedded in the floor, just by the door to the little structure. He leans over to take a closer look, pulls out the object and holds it up. It's a tiny diamond in a gold setting, too small to be fake, with the little bar of an earring broken off. 

Raylan stares at it for a minute, tucks it into his pocket, and walks out to the car. He has an idea, but he's trying his best to do this right. There's less room for error these days, and he hates Bobby Dornan enough for it to cloud his judgement. 

He stops at the police station first, pulls the file from his drawer and goes through everything. When he reads through the information from Sheriff Smith in Whitesburg, he can feel his stomach churning with a familiar excitement, and a feeling of parts clicking together. The description of what Sarah was wearing includes a pair of small diamond stud earrings. Raylan knows then, he's utterly _certain_.

Raylan knows where Dornan squats. His place is out by Martin's Fork Lake, west of Gray's Knob, which only adds to his certainty. Raylan was out there once, looking into reports of some thefts in the area. It had turned out not to be Dornan - he isn't really the type to sneak into your place and steal from you. He'd rather intimidate you and just take what he wants. 

Raylan pulls up to the property and gets out cautiously, watching for trip wires. You never know with these white supremacist types, they're fucking paranoid under the best of conditions, but if he's been killing women and chopping off their heads, he'd have a good reason to be afraid of intruders. The last thing Raylan needs is to get strung up like a hog and be at the mercy of Bobby Dornan.

He's picking his way through the scrub towards the house, looking at the ground, when he hears a shotgun being cocked. He looks up to see Dornan holding the gun on him, looking hostile, but not particularly panicked.

"Bobby," Raylan says, "I just come for a friendly chat. No need for all that."

"Then consider this a friendly warning. I ain't shot you yet. Get the fuck off my property."

"Well, I'd like to say I can do that," Raylan says, inching his hand toward his hip and walking forward very slowly, "but the fact is I really need to ask you a few questions."

"What, more of my neighbors accuse me of stealing their shit? Believe me, I take something belongs to someone else, they're gonna fuckin' know about it."

"I know," Raylan says, still moving closer to him. "That was the conclusion I came to at the time, if you recall. I didn't try to pin nothin' on you just 'cause I think you're an asshole. I just want to talk."

"You come any closer, you're gonna be real sorry," Dornan says. 

Raylan takes another step, and Dornan fires the shotgun. Raylan dives to the ground, and Dornan is on him, hits him hard in the face and digs a knee into his sternum until he blacks out. 

Raylan comes to just in time to see the butt of the shotgun heading straight between his eyes, and he moves his head so it only glances off his cheekbone. Still hurts like fucking hell, though. It takes Dornan a second to recover his balance, and Raylan manages to throw him off. He goes for his gun, but his reaction times are slow from being hit, or from blacking out, or both. Dornan kicks it out of his hand with a big, black work boot. 

Then the boot connects solidly with his body, and it feels like he's broken a few ribs. Dornan walks over, picks up his gun and says, "Good luck getting home." Then he raises the shotgun again, and this time hits his mark, right between the eyes. 

Raylan wakes up some time later, no clue as to how long he's been out. His head hurts like a motherfucker, and his face is wet with blood. He struggles into a sitting position, and he can tell right away he's got several broken ribs. Every intake of breath sends a sharp pain through his chest. 

Once he's standing, it's a little better, easier to get air. He walks to his truck with very little hope, and sure enough his keys are not in the ignition where he'd left them. He makes his way out to the highway, hoping to hell there aren't any trip wires after all, because getting trussed up like a damn deer is the last thing his ribs need. 

He's a long way from Harlan, by foot, and it's not like there are a lot of cars passing these days. The difference is that more people will stop for you now, which is obviously what happened to the women who were killed. Of course, you would hope most young women would have more sense than to get in a car with a scumbag like Bobby, but people can be remarkably stupid at times. That ain't news.

He walks for awhile, feeling like he's covering a very small amount of ground, and eventually has to take a rest. He leans against the metal shoulder rail, thinking about all the ways he'd fucked up this situation. He lets his eyes close, and his head feels swimmy from the blow he sustained. 

The sound of a vehicle slowing down on the shoulder makes him open his eyes and look up. The sight of Boyd Crowder climbing down from the driver's side of his truck has never been so welcome, or such a relief, he's certain. 

Boyd runs over to him, his face a mask of anger and worry. "Jesus fucking Christ, Raylan. What happened to you?" He touches Raylan's face gently, assessing the damage. His fingers feel cool and good, and Raylan wishes he could just lie down and let Boyd touch him everywhere it hurts, until he feels better. 

He can't do that now, though, because, "Bobby," he says. "Your fucking asshole buddy Dornan." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the earring. "Amber told me the guy she was seeing gave her diamond earrings." He hands it to Boyd. "I found this stuck in the chicken coop. I checked, Boyd, this matches the description of earrings one of the other victims had on."

Boyd takes it and stares at it. "Fuck."

A thought occurs to Raylan, and he asks, "What are you doin' out here anyways?"

Boyd looks back at him and says, "I talked to Kelly, one of the whores, apparently she was close to Melinda. She told me it was Bobby she was going to see. So I guess I was coming here for the same reason as you. I did stop at the house and the office to get you first, though. Didn't seem like the best idea to come on my own, although he might have been a bit more welcoming to me. But when I didn't find you, I thought I should come anyhow, seeing as he might have Melinda there now."

"We gotta go back."

Boyd looks him over and frowns deeply. "You're pretty fucked up, Raylan. Maybe we should wait for the Marshals."

Raylan shakes his head hard, which might not have been the best idea, but he says, "No fucking way. What if she's in there?"

"Alright," he replies. "Shit. Can you even hold a weapon?"

"Who're you talkin' to, son? Give it here. I'll cover you. You try to get close, make him think you got his back, right?"

Boyd nods. “Right. I might have to say some mean things about you.”

Raylan lifts an eyebrow and replies, “Who knows, maybe I’ll like it.”

Boyd smiles at him, then frowns again as he looks at Raylan’s face. He kisses him gently on the cheek where a bruise is already blooming from the first hit he took. “I’m gonna kill that motherfucker, Raylan,” he says, his voice suddenly very dark. 

“No, you ain’t, Boyd. Not if you can help it. At least, not until we know for sure and he tells us where Melinda is, if she’s still alive.”

“She won’t be,” Boyd says. “You know that, right?”

“No point in talking about it. Let’s just go.” 

They get into Boyd’s truck, Raylan slouched down in the passenger seat, and pull up in front of Dornan’s house. Raylan’s truck is no longer anywhere in sight. 

“Bobby!” Boyd hollers, hopping out of the truck. Raylan stays hunkered down in the cab of the truck, ready to shoot the asshole if anything happens. 

Dornan comes to the door as Boyd starts walking up the steps to his porch. His face does not look very welcoming at all, and he says, “Well, ain’t this a coincidence. First your girlfriend pays me a surprise visit, and now you show up.”

Boyd smiles and gives a little laugh, then says, “My girlfriend, you say. Well, I don't know that Raylan would be too thrilled to hear you call him that. Me, I kinda like it."

"The fuck're you doing here, Boyd? If you're lookin' for him, he took off over an hour ago."

"Is that right?" Boyd asks. "What did he want with you? He didn't say nothin' to me about coming out here."

Dornan laughs harshly and says, "Didn't wait around to find out. Chased him off."

"Really?" Boyd says in a curious tone, "That don't sound like him. He ain't usually so easy to chase off."

"So what _are_ you doing here, son? If it ain't about him or whatever it was he wanted?"

Boyd smiles real big and replies, "Well, it just so happens I'm here on the request of my cousin Johnny. Seems one of his girls quit coming to work, and he thought she might be holed up with you. He just wants to know if she's coming back or not, so he can go ahead and give her trailer to someone else."

"I assume you're talkin' about that cunt Melinda," Bobby says, a dangerous expression on his face now. "Ain't seen her in a week, at least. I was sposed to pick her up Sunday after the swap meet, but she wasn't around. You sayin' she took off for good?"

"Well," Boyd replies carefully, "Johnny ain't seen her since then. So that's what we're trying to figure out."

"Fuck that bitch," Bobby says, looking genuinely pissed off. "I even gave her fuckin' jewelry. Then she takes off and don't say nothin'." He laughs meanly and says, "Shit, maybe you got the right idea. Least you don't have to deal with crazy fuckin' bitches no more."

"Speaking of that," Boyd says, "Where _is_ Raylan's car, Bobby?"

Dornan's face shuts down immediately. "So that's it. You come out to my home and lie to my fuckin' face?"

His voice is hard and dangerous sounding, and Raylan prepares himself to fire. 

"Bobby," Boyd says in a placating tone, "I don't care what you did to him. It ain't like we're sweethearts. I just want the goddamn car."

"You ain't sweethearts, that's fuckin' hilarious." He's advancing on Boyd now, quickly and aggressively. Raylan ain't waiting any longer, that's for sure, and he comes out from behind his cover, gun aimed at Dornan's chest. 

"Stop!" he shouts, and the effort causes a sharp thrill of pain to run through his chest. "Not another step, asshole."

Dornan's hands go up, albeit slowly, but he doesn't look at Raylan. He's too busy sneering at Boyd. "Good thing your daddy ain't alive to see this, his own son, a goddamn -"

"Oh, do we have to?" Raylan asks wearily. "Just shut it, Dornan. Boyd don't care about any of that and neither do I. We're here for Melinda. Where is she?"

"As I'm sure you heard, seein' as how you were standing right back there the whole time, I got no fucking idea. I went to get her on Sunday and she weren't there. Who the fuck knows."

"Bobby," Boyd says, backing away slowly, "we know about the girls out at the McCoury place."

"What girls? What the fuck are you on about, Boyd?" Dornan is a sociopath, so Raylan supposes its possible he could be that good of an actor, but he is quite convincing.

"The earrings you gave Melinda," Raylan says, "They came from one of those girls."

"Wha- hey, I don't know shit about any girls. I got them earrings offa that skinny little fuck Carl. He had 'em in the glove compartment of his car." Raylan gives him a raised-eyebrow look, and he goes on to say, "Yeah, I was fuckin' with him. Stealing his goddamn gas - which you damn well knows he gets by stealing, by the way, Mr. Policeman. I looked through his car to see if he had anything else, and I found all this girl's jewelry. I took them earrings. I don't know where he got 'em."

Boyd is looking at Raylan uneasily, and Raylan says, "Dornan, toss Boyd my keys. Now. I ain't fucking around, I will give you three seconds and then I will shoot you."

Dornan fumbles in his pocket and throws the keys. "Car's out back," he says. "What's going on?"

Boyd walks around back to retrieve the car, and Raylan says, "Count yourself real goddamn lucky I got other things to worry about right now. And especially that Boyd does, because he wanted to kill you. I told him not to. You're welcome."

"Looks like Boyd didn't protect you much better'n he did his last girlfriend."

Raylan's eyes go wide and furious. He says through clenched teeth, "You say anything like that in earshot of him, and _I_ will kill you. Sheriff or no, I will put a bullet in you. You believe me?"

"Yeah." 

Boyd pulls around front and gets out of the car, hands Raylan his keys and says, "You know where Carl stays?"

"No clue," Raylan replies. "Hey asshole," he says to Dornan, "You know where the gas man lives?"

"Fuck no," Dornan says, then spits. "And if there ain't nothing else you want with me, I'd suggest you get the hell off my property."

"My weapon, Dornan. Now."

Dornan scowls and hands it over to Boyd while Raylan keeps the other gun trained on him, then turns his back and walks into his house, letting the screen door slam behind him. 

"You ain't gonna trade with him no more," Raylan says, "or you and me are gonna have a problem."

"Darlin'," Boyd replies, "I still want to kill him for this." His fingers skim lightly over Raylan's swollen, blood-encrusted nose. "I'm the brains of this operation. You're supposed to be the pretty one. He's screwed up our whole dynamic."

"Well, if you're so goddamn smart, maybe you can figure out how to find Carl. Even if I could check DMV records easily - and I can't, you gotta put a request in and it takes fucking forever - I don't even know if he has a permanent residence. Or a license, for that matter."

Boyd is quiet for a minute, then says, "I don't know yet. But while I'm thinking, we're going over to Nancy and Kathleen's so Nancy can tape up your ribs and clean up your face.

"I'm fine," Raylan says. "I don't want- "

"I don't care what you want, we're going. You can't see how bad you look, but I can." Raylan still looks mutinous, but Boyd chooses not to argue further with him. He just says, "Please, Raylan," and Raylan sighs and nods. 

The drive over is uncomfortable, to say the least, and Raylan knows Boyd was right to make him get looked after. Nancy had been in nursing school when Kathleen's husband died, and she came to stay while she was grieving, to help on the farm. She hadn't planned to stay in Harlan with her friend, but things had just ended up that way. She says she never regretted it.

Kathleen answers the door and hisses in a sharp breath when she gets a look at Raylan's face. She looks at Boyd severely and says, "I sure as hell hope it ain't you, did this to him."

"Christ almighty, woman," Boyd says, frowning at her like she's gone insane. "How long you been knowing me now?"

She shrugs, not particularly seeming to care if she'd hurt his feelings. She opens the door to them and steps aside, saying, "I know as well as anyone you boys got some rough history between you. And he is infuriating at times, lord knows."

"Blaming the victim, that ain't too nice," Raylan says. Kathleen pats him on the head and goes off to fetch Nancy. 

Raylan and Boyd sit at the kitchen table to wait. "You think people really see us that way?" Boyd asks. "Like we could turn on each other any second?"

Raylan shakes his head slowly, not like he's saying no, but like he seriously has no idea. "Couldn't really fault them for it, could you?"

Boyd looks at him with a bemused expression for a second, and then he laughs. Nancy walks in a second later with a bag full of first aid supplies. 

She starts looking over Raylan's face, clucking at him like one of the damn hens. "I'm really okay," he grouses.

"Hmm," she says, pulling out some iodine and tiny adhesive strip bandages. "Walk into a door, did you?" 

Raylan snorts. "Yeah, right. Maybe I should go see Limehouse."

"Raylan!" Boyd says, suddenly animated. "Maybe we _should_ go see him. If anyone knows how to find Carl, I bet he would."

"Why would he?" Raylan asks.

"You mean beside the fact that the man seems to have a finger in every damn pie in the county, and makes it his business to know everything there is to know? Carl's daddy killed his mama, didn't you know that?"

" _What?_ " All three stare at him like he's an idiot.

"I thought everyone knew that," Boyd says. "I forget how long you were gone, sometimes. This was before you came back, maybe 8 years ago. Carl woulda still been in high school. His daddy was a mean drunk." He looks steadily at Raylan, who gives no indication that he's affected by it. He can see Kathleen out of the corner of his eye, though, looking at him with sympathy he doesn't want. Never wanted. 

"So," Raylan says, "he got drunk and killed her."

"Car accident," Nancy says gruffly. "Carl was in the car. His drunk ass daddy was fine, he was fine, his mama got killed. Carl told the police they'd been fighting right before the accident, and his daddy wasn't looking at the road."

"Jesus Christ," Raylan mutters. "So you think she mighta gone to Nobles a few times when she was alive?"

"Could be," Boyd says. "And you know how Limehouse keeps track."

"I do," Raylan says, hoping that's the last thing Boyd says about it. "If I go, you ain't coming along, Boyd. He probably still hates you, it'll fuck things up."

"I was hoping for some barbecue, Raylan." 

"Well, maybe we can go for dinner some time and you can make amends. Somehow I don't think this is the time."

Nancy finishes with his face, then tapes up his ribs good and tight. She eyes him up appreciatively as he pulls his shirt back on and says, "Time was, me and my girl woulda tried to have some fun with you, boy."

Raylan laughs and looks down, shaking his head. "When was that? When I was in high school?"

"See?" Kathleen puts in, cackling. "Infuriating."

When Raylan starts up his car, he sees the tank is edging up on empty. The extra can is at the station, so he heads there as Boyd drives back to the house. 

The Marshals' car is parked out front when he arrives, and he goes in to find Tim and Daniels sorting through the charred scraps from the fire, again. Tim looks up and lifts his hand, dispirited and tired. His eyes widen when he sees Raylan's face.

"What the hell happened to you, man?" 

"I'll tell you on the way to Nobles Holler. We're gonna go talk to Ellston Limehouse. Come on." Raylan is already on his way back out the door by the time they've stood up.

Raylan gets them up to speed as they drive, telling them what happened at Bobby Dornan's house. 

"So, you know this guy Carl?" Tim asks. 

"Yeah," Raylan replies, "I bought gas off him on Sunday, for God's sake. He's a little squirrelly, maybe, but I liked him, in a way. Thought he was just a not-too-bright kid, tryin' to get by. _Fuck._ "

"Quiet guy, huh?" Tim says, his voice dark with grim humor. "Keeps to himself?"

"Fuck," Raylan says again, pounding on the steering wheel. "Fuck fuck fuck!"

When they pull into Noble's Holler, up to Limehouse's barbecue joint, Raylan sees a young man take notice and run into the building. Raylan and the Marshals get wait by the car, and after a few minutes Ellston Limehouse comes ambling out, wiping his hands on a rag and smiling amiably, as always. 

"Marshal Givens," he says, still grinning, "What brings you out to my holler on this lovely day?"

"Ain't a Marshal no more," Raylan says mildly, "as I'm sure you're aware."

"Of course, of course. I apologize, Sheriff. But the question remains, what do you need from me? I know you need somethin', else I wouldn't be seein' you around these parts."

"Aw, don't be hurt, Limehouse. If I'd known you wanted me comin' by here more often, I woulda surely done that."

Limehouse's grin broadens, but his eyes narrow and the twinkle turns into something like a hard glitter. "What do you want, Sheriff?"

"Carl the gas man. You know him?"

"Course I do." Limehouse says. "Known him since he was a kid, just like you. Same reason, too."

"So I heard." Raylan can only hope the man will shut up about it now. Tim already knows about Arlo, but he doesn't need Daniels having personal information about his father issues. "You know where I can find him?"

"Depends," Limehouse says, laconically. He is skilled at pissing off people who want something from him, and Raylan isn't sure if it's a tactical power play or if he just enjoys it. Probably both, he thinks.

"On what?" Raylan grits out.

"What you want with him," Limehouse says, "and what's in it for me to tell you."

Raylan has had enough. He stalks forward and gets in Limehouse's space. He leans in and says, quietly buy in a furious tone, "I am the Sheriff in this county, whether you like it or not. Nobles is in Harlan County, like it or not. Now, I ain't got the time nor the resources to detain you for hindering an ongoing investigation, so I may need to resort to more severe tactics. I honestly do not want to do that. But this is of the utmost goddamn importance, and I do not have time to waste."

Limehouse somehow manages to convey a glare at him, while still maintaining his smile, but he says, "Carl's still living in his daddy's house. Head east on 421, just past Gray's Knob."

Raylan's eyes close for a second as he thinks about how close they've been to him the whole time. How he probably picked up Melinda right after Raylan saw him on Sunday. Limehouse gives him a street name and a general description of the place, and Raylan thanks him.

"You know me, Sheriff. Always happy to lend a hand."

Raylan pauses in the act of turning around, and says, "It's good practice to keep clear of the _long arm of the law._ "

The little twinkle returns to Limehouse's eye, and he says, "Don't be a stranger, now, Sheriff. My barbecue ain't lost nothin', and you'll find I'm a reasonable man to trade with."

"I would, but Boyd'd get jealous. He wanted to come up here today in case he might get a taste, but I thought that wasn't the best idea."

"Well now," Limehouse says, his face growing serious, "You can tell Boyd Crowder he's welcome too. I never offered my condolences after Miss Ava passed, but I was as sad as could be to hear, and I appreciated the swift and hard justice he provided." Raylan's eyes flick vaguely in the direction of the Marshals, and Limehouse chuckles. "Anyways," he says, "You ought to take your boy to dinner once in awhile, Givens. Don't worry, we got a modern mindset down here in Nobles Holler."

"Will do," Raylan says, tipping his hat. "Thanks for the help."

"Jesus, Raylan," Tim says, "So it's just common knowledge that it was Boyd who blew up that gang of..."

"Reivers," Raylan finishes for him. When Tim and Daniels just stare at him, he clarifies. "That's what Boyd calls them, reivers. It's an Irish word, I think. And there ain't any proof of that. People can assume what they like."

Raylan drives fast, and it doesn't take long to get to the place Limehouse had told him about. The house is a dump, siding sagging off and garbage littering the yard. Carl's car is in the cracked, oil-stained driveway. 

He pulls up and parks on the street in front of the house. The three of them get out of the car, Tim and Daniels trailing slightly behind, their guns drawn. Raylan pounds on the front door of the house, waits, but there’s no answer. 

“Carl!” Raylan shouts. “It’s Sheriff Givens. I need you to open up so I can talk to you.”

When there is no response to this, Raylan tries the doorknob, and is surprised to find it unlocked. People frequently leave their doors unlocked in Harlan, but one would think a person who’s been murdering girls would think of doing it.

He smells it as soon as he walks in the door. It’s not as suffocating as the smell at the McCoury place, but it is definitely rotting flesh. He can hear movement in one of the bedrooms off the short hallway off the living room. He draws his weapon as well, and calls out, “Carl. I really need to speak with you, please come out here.” 

They wait, and after a moment, one of the doors opens and Carl comes out, raising his hands meekly. He almost looks embarrassed, rather than afraid, and Raylan can feel pity warring with the revulsion he feels. 

“You got a weapon on you, son?” Raylan asks. 

“No sir,” Carl replies.

Raylan walks forward and checks him, then puts handcuffs on his skinny wrists and leads him out the door. When they’re on the front step, Raylan asks, “You got Melinda in there, Carl?”

“Yes sir,” Carl says. “She ain’t alive no more, though.”

Raylan puts him in the back of the car and asks Daniels to sit with him. Tim goes back into the house with him, and they check the bedroom. There’s a body in the bed, headless and naked. Somehow, this tableau is even worse than what he and Boyd had found in the abandoned house, sadder and more disturbing. He’s pretty sure that even if they get some kind of explanation from Carl, this will never make even the slightest bit of sense to him. They leave, closing the door behind them. He’ll have to come back later for the body. He’ll ask Boyd to come with him, because that might make it just bearable. 

Tim decides that they should drive Carl back to Lexington that night, rather than house him in the Harlan County lock up. Raylan will have to come up to aid in his prosecution, and later to testify. They drive to the cabin so the Marshals can pick up the belongings they’d left there. Daniels takes their car, while Carl and Tim ride with Raylan. Raylan asks him only one question on the way. He says, “Carl, just tell me this. Why’d you cut off the heads?”

“They were staring at me,” Carl says, like it makes perfect goddamn sense.

Raylan just nods and drives on. He has other questions, but he realizes he really doesn’t want to know. He’ll end up finding out way more than he cares to during the trial anyway, but it can wait. 

Boyd comes to the door when they pull up, and Raylan can see the glow of the oil lamp in the windows. He’s so glad he doesn’t have to drive to Lexington tonight. At that moment, he feels like he never wants to leave Harlan again, and if he could, he’d just stay right here at the cabin. Raylan waits in the car with Carl while Tim and Daniels get their things. He watches Tim shake Boyd’s hand and say something to him. Daniels also speaks to him, briefly, and then they throw their things in the trunk. Raylan pulls Carl out of the back seat and hands him over, then tells the Marshals goodbye. He nods to Daniels, then extends his hand to Tim. Tim takes it, then surprises him by giving him a brief, masculine hug. 

“It’s been good seeing you, Raylan. I’m sorry it was these circumstances, of course.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll see plenty of me in the next few months. But you know, you’re welcome to come visit anytime, Timmy. Tell Rachel too, for that matter. Come spend some time in my country paradise.” Raylan winks, because he knows it sounds like a joke. But not like it once would have, with Lexington being the way it is these days. 

“Maybe I’ll do that,” Tim says. “See you, Raylan.”

Raylan walks toward the house on legs that feel like they’re 100 years old. Boyd holds out his arms and he walks into them, groaning as he lays his head on Boyd’s shoulder. “I still have to retrieve the body,” he says. 

Boyd’s face falls a little, and he sighs. “I can take Emerson and go get it, Raylan.”

Raylan lifts his head and looks at Boyd, a faint smile on his face. “Thanks, Boyd. But I have to go, I wouldn’t feel right. You come with me, okay?”

“Alright. But we’ll get Emerson anyway, because you shouldn’t be lifting with them broken ribs. It’s Melinda, huh?”

“That’s what Carl says. Obviously I couldn’t confirm that, because - “

“Right. Well, come on, let’s just get it over with.”

They pick up the doctor, then the three of them make the trip out to Carl's house. The grim task of wrapping and loading the body into the truck takes only a few minutes, but it feels like forever. Emerson drives Carl's car back and parks it in the police station's lot for Raylan to go through later. They drop the body at Tate's, and Raylan says he'll meet him there in the morning to go over whatever he finds. 

By the time Raylan and Boyd get back to the cabin, Raylan feels ready to collapse. His ribs are aching and his face hurts, but mostly it's his soul that feels bruised. 

"I never even thought of him," Raylan says as they get undressed for bed. "I should have. The gas, I don't know what the hell is wrong with me."

"Nobody did, Raylan. These crimes were so terrible, it's hard not to think that the person who did it would seem like a terrible person. Like fucking Bobby Dornan. But it took less than a week to get him. You have to remember that, you did good."

"I got lucky. But not lucky enough to save the girl." Raylan sinks down onto the bed, sits on the edge, and Boyd comes to sit next to him. 

"I know." He rubs a hand up and down Raylan's t-shirt clad back. "You need to sleep. Let's go to sleep, alright?"

"I don't know if I can, Boyd," Raylan replies.

"Well, then we can just turn out the light and lie down and talk. I'll talk to you, you just close your eyes."

Raylan crawls over to the other side of the bed and slips beneath the covers. Boyd slides in next to him and wraps an arm around his chest. He starts talking softly, telling Raylan about falling in love with Ava. 

Raylan is surprised for a minute, that he'd be talking about her now - he very rarely does, and Raylan has always assumed it's still painful for him - and that he'd think it would be a good way to make Raylan feel better. Strangely though, it does, and it's interesting to hear about how Boyd experienced that. It had been a much more deeply life-changing experience than his religious one had been, or even being shot and almost dying. 

"You know, Raylan, what made me love her so much was that she knew exactly who and what I was, but she didn't care. She loved me not despite that, nor because of it, she just loved me no matter what, because of _me._ I never had that before."

Raylan shifts around under Boyd's arm, so he's facing him. "I never could understand that, Boyd. I'm sorry. I knew all about you, and it just made me mad. I couldn't..."

Boyd kisses him gently. "It's alright. That's who you are, I always knew that. And I also knew you wouldn't be so mad if you didn't give a shit about me. You wanted me to be good so you could let yourself like me again. It wasn't in me to do that then."

"I don't need that now," Raylan says. "I let all that go."

Boyd sort of laughs, then kisses him again, on the jaw, then settles his face in close to his neck. Raylan can feel the puffs of his breath as he says, "So I can be an outlaw again, and you won't be pissed?"

"You want to be an outlaw? That's a big commitment, Boyd. What with that and the chickens, that's gonna seriously eat into our screwin' time."

Boyd laughs again, and says, "Go to sleep, Raylan. We can get in some screwin' time in the morning."

"Promise?" Raylan mumbles sleepily.

Boyd just sighs into his neck and lets himself drift off. Raylan feels his breathing change, and it's sort of hypnotic. He eventually finds sleep himself. 

The rest of the week is spent tying up loose ends. Raylan takes Kaylee's ashes to her mother, and fills in Sheriff Mason on the arrest. He drives to Whitesburg and brings Sarah's remains to her grieving boyfriend, next. Evidence is collected from the car, including jewelry from all the girls.

Raylan makes the trip to Lexington on Saturday, this time with Boyd along for the ride. He needs to make an official statement about the investigation, and go through over the investigation with the prosecutor. 

"Don't you feel weird bringing me into the Marshal's office with you?" Boyd asks as they pull up in front of the courthouse. "Last time we were in there together, it wasn't under very happy circumstances."

"Little weird, yeah," Raylan replies. "Not enough not to do it. I didn't like bein' up here without you, last time. Gave me a...bad feeling. Reminded me of before, when I came back and couldn't get myself out again."

"Alright," Boyd says, and leans his head back into the seat. 

After a few seconds, Raylan realizes he might be an asshole, and he says, "You don't have to come in if you don't want. I just wanted you in the city with me, but you don't have to go up. I'll be awhile, but you can... I don't know, take a walk or drive around or something. "

Boyd smiles and says, "Nah. I'll just bug Gutterson while I wait. It's fine, Raylan."

The whole thing takes almost two hours, and when Raylan comes out of the conference room he finds Boyd sitting on Tim's desk, Tim and Rachel standing around laughing loudly about something and a broad grin opening up Boyd's face. Raylan assumes it's something to do with him, but at the moment he just doesn't care. After the harrowing process of telling his story to the prosecutor, he's just happy to see people in a good mood. 

He holds up a finger to Boyd, then knocks on Art's door and walks in. 

"Raylan," Art says, "You did good work down there."

"I had help," he replies. "And I got lucky. But thanks, Art."

Art pulls out his bottle and two glasses, then hesitates. "You want to invite Crowder in here? I haven't really spoken to him much, and I feel like I should. He gave you a lot of help on this, didn't he?"

Raylan nods, grinning a little. "Hadn't been for his goddamn chickens, we'd still be stuck."

He walks to the door and motions for Boyd to join them. Boyd looks surprised, but comes in anyway. 

"Mr. Crowder, I assume you wouldn't object to a glass of honest to God Kentucky bourbon?"

"Chief Mullen, I can hardly think of anything I'd like better than that. And please, call me Boyd."

Art nods and hands him a glass, which Boyd sticks his nose in for a long moment before even having a taste. "Damn," he says. "Missed that."

Art opens his mouth to speak, and Raylan imagines he was about to offer some hilariously crude comment about it being even better than sticking your nose in Raquel Welch's pussy, or some such thing. He stops himself, perhaps wondering if that idea would hold any appeal for Boyd, or for Raylan for that matter. 

Art thanks Boyd for his assistance on the case, and for housing his deputies. Boyd leans forward with a glint of humor in his eyes and says, "I decided not to keep those two, though." Art huffs and shakes his head, smiling like he still can't quite make everything fit together. 

They say their goodbyes shortly after, and get back to Harlan just before dark. "We got the house to ourselves, Boyd," Raylan says as they pass through the front door. "No need to keep quiet now." He takes hold of Boyd's jacket and pulls gently. Boyd offers no resistance, just leans into him and tilts his face up for a kiss. 

"That's true," he says. "That was sort of sexy, trying to be quiet, but I think I'd rather hear you holler my name."

"Think you can make me?" Raylan asks.

Boyd answers by sliding a hand against the front of Raylan's jeans, slowly moving up and down, while unbuttoning his shirt with the other. Raylan attacks his lips, and they make out in the entrance of the cabin for a good long time, loosening and removing clothing bit by bit as they go along. It feels like they have all the time in the world now, and he sort of wants to fool around in every room in the house, now they have they privacy back.

"Let's use your room tonight," Boyd says, like he's reading Raylan's mind. 

"My room?" Raylan says with amusement. "Ain't been my room since two months in. But sure. Which bed did that Daniels asshole sleep in? Let's screw in that one."

They take off the rest of their clothes and slip under the sheets of the single bed, wrapping themselves together and kissing in the darkening room. "This is so good, Raylan," Boyd whispers, then laughs a little, somewhat uneasily, as if he hadn't meant to say it. 

Raylan runs a hand up his back to grasp his neck and says, "I know it is." He kisses him hard, then sighs as Boyd crawls quickly down the bed, taking his cock in hand and licking at it. 

Boyd had said he likes it when he talks, but it's hard to think of what he might like to hear. He'd brought up that time at the creek, but Raylan has very few specific memories of those days, and the ones he does have, he can't remember what they really felt like. 

Still, Boyd's mouth is on him, and it's so hot, so fucking perfect, really, so he casts his mind back and tries to think. Nothing comes to him that seems right, though, because the things his mind is offering up, the times when he can remember feeling something strongly about Boyd in the past, are all sad. Boyd in jail, in a hospital bed, lying on the floor maybe dying, in the courthouse, lifting Ava into his arms and kissing her. Boyd coming out of the front of the church with a swastika on his arm and a welcoming smile on his face, hugging him and holding onto his arm like he wanted to keep him there. 

Raylan can't think of a thing, so he ends up just stroking Boyd's hair and murmuring praise, shouting his name when he comes just like he said he wanted. When he comes back up, and Raylan gets his hand on him, Boyd just says, "Oh, Raylan," then buries his face in his neck, panting wetly until he finishes. 

They lie together, pressed close from necessity in the narrow bed, and Raylan thinks about Lexington. He had enjoyed being there, seeing Art and the others, doing that kind of work. He had loved it once, and that feeling wasn't completely gone. It should have felt strange being there with Boyd in tow, he thinks, but it didn't. It felt right. And this, huddled up with Boyd in their cabin, almost like little boys in a fort, that feels right, too. It feels good. It is so good. 

 

Weeks later, at a swap meet, Cary Emerson asks him and Boyd if they want to come over for dinner. Raylan looks at Boyd, who just blinks at him for a second before recovering and saying, "We would. Right?"

Raylan smiles and gives an easy shrug. "Sure," he says. He likes Emerson, and maybe if he spends the whole evening with them, he can figure out who Matthew reminds him of.

They've eaten dinner, and they're sitting around after, drinking some kind of cocktail made with Boyd's moonshine. Raylan can't deny it's more pleasant tasting than drinking the stuff straight, though it rankles his pride a tiny bit, which is of course stupid. 

"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" Boyd is watching him with glee, and Raylan huffs in irritation. 

"Figured what out?" Emerson asks. 

Boyd has a huge grin on his face as he says, "Raylan thinks Matthew looks familiar, but he doesn't know why."

"Oh!" Emerson and Matthew both laugh. "Everyone says he looks like -"

"Don't fuckin' tell him," Boyd says. "He should be able to get this."

"Boyd, I swear to God, I will kick your ass," Raylan says. 

"No you won't," Boyd replies. "There was certainly a time when you might have tried, but you couldn't do it now."

"Wrong, asshole. Just try me."

"Dear god," Matthew mutters, glancing at Emerson, who stifles a laugh. 

"Alright, fine. If you're going to be a fuckin' baby about it. Raylan, do you remember that little general store, Farrell's?"

"Uh... yeah. Sure." He looks at Matthew and Emerson and tells them, "We used to steal candy from there."

"Well yes," Boyd says, "but one time, we stole something else. We musta been about... twelve, I think."

Raylan thinks for a minute, then says, "A video. From the rental rack. Yeah, okay. I don't remember what it was, though. _Stripes_?"

Boyd shakes his head and says, "Nope." When Raylan can't come up with anything, Boyd says, "We watched it in Jenny Carson's basement, remember?"

"Of course we did, she was the only person we knew who had a VCR, and she had a crush on me."

"Oh man! She really did," Emerson says. Boyd and Raylan look at him in surprise and he says, "She was my sister's friend. They used to talk about you."

"Alison?" Raylan asks, hoping he's remembering right. He thinks he recalls a girl named Alison Emerson a year behind him at Evarts.

"Yep," Emerson replies. "She lives in California now. Last I heard, she's doing okay."

"So, we were at Jenny Carson's house..." Boyd prompts.

Raylan nods. "Lights off, maybe drinking something from her daddy's liquor cabinet. Was it a scary movie? I thought maybe not, but I do remember her taking the opportunity to grab onto me."

Boyd just grins at him, and Raylan looks over at Matthew again. Suddenly it hits him. "Ash! You look just like Ash from Evil Dead. Bruce Campbell. Jesus Christ, why did it take me so long to get that? You look just like that dude."

"Plus," Boyd says, "When the second one came out, we saw it in the theater on a double date. I never did get around to seeing the third one."

"I did," Raylan says. "I found it overly self-aware. But it had its moments."

"You feel better now?" Boyd asks. "Ain't you glad I didn't just tell you?" Raylan rolls his eyes and sips at his drink. 

Matthew says, "I still can't imagine it. Growing up here. I mean, I like it here... now. Especially after everything happened, but even before that, I liked it. But when I was a kid, or, Jesus, in my twenties? That sounds... impossible."

Raylan shrugs, looking down. "I left when I was 19, so I can't speak to that. Boyd stayed, though."

"I left and came back," Boyd clarifies. "I had a business to inherit and a family name to uphold." When Raylan gives him a sour look, he winks. "I may have made some mistakes along the way, I cannot deny it."

Emerson says, "So you guys were good friends in school, and then got even closer when you worked mining coal together, but it took the end of civilization as we know it to get you to admit that you had, uh, _feelings_ for each other? That's some hardcore denial, I have to say."

"Well," Raylan says, "I had a shitload of feelings for him when I first come back to Kentucky with the Marshals nearly five years ago. Let's see, there was anger, and contempt, disappointment and fuckin' bewilderment."

"Oh please," Boyd says, grinning. "You still liked me.”

"Against all my better judgement, I suppose I did."

"Didn't you shoot him, though?" Matthew asks, laughing. 

"He pulled on me, goddamnit! Why do I always get the grief for shooting him, when he did the exact same thing? I'm just better at it."

"I can't quite believe you guys are real," Matthew says. "It's like a novel or something."

"Nah," Boyd says. "In a novel, a decent one anyway, I would've died when Raylan shot me. Nobody would believe this ending."

"It ain't over yet, Boyd," Raylan says, eyeing him up mock-severely. "There's still a chance."

Boyd smiles affectionately and leans over to kiss his cheek. "Guess we'll have to wait and see."


End file.
